


Growing Up Winchester

by Deadmockingbirds



Series: The Winchester's Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse and violence with regard to Lucifer and Michael, Age Difference, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angels, Bottom!Sam, Consensual Kink, Consensual spanking, Daddy!Sam, Diapers, Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Infantilism, Little!Dean, M/M, Marriage, Naughty Step, Non-Consensual Spanking, Parents Sam and Castiel Winchester, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Castiel, Possessive Michael, Protective Castiel, Protective Michael, Rough Sex, Slash, Strict Parents, Time-Outs, Too many Colts, Top!Castiel, deaged dean, little boy Dean, mischievous dean, papa!Cas, potty training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 114,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3870082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadmockingbirds/pseuds/Deadmockingbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the second instalment of The Winchesters series. You saw Dean 'grow down' and fall in love with his awesome parents. Now watch him grow up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Operation Potty Training

**Author's Note:**

> Just have to mention that I used an entire paragraph from J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. You'll know where. It's the first paragraph of the Peter Pan novel, first page, chapter one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever notice how three-year-old's always talk about themselves in third person?

I've tried everything, but Dean refuses to be potty trained.

We confirmed from the doctor that Dean is officially three two months ago. It took him just over a year to reach two, but then almost three years to reach three. Ask me how done I am with changing diapers. But he wasn't ready before and he's trying to tell Daddy he's not ready now. I've been trying to make him ready.

We decided to hold off having him a birthday until we leave for our now annual trip back to Texas, everyone back there is excited to spend his birthday with him. In preparation, Cas and I thought it would be nice if he were out of diapers, so I've been working hard to achieve that.

It's worked out so well having Dally here, he's got one more year 'till he's done his undergrad and then he's talking about a Masters. Thank God. I've grown attached to having him here with us, I don't want him to go.

But currently, I'm looking for my toddler, who ran off. I suppose I have to stop calling him a toddler. He's not a toddler anymore, but he was one for a long time. From here he'll be my little one and said little one is hiding from me because he knows I want him to use the potty.

When Mama, Georgia and I trained all the others, it was easy. No one really wanted to stay in diapers. Dally was traumatized whenever he did have an accident and hated being wet. Not so for my babe. Dean doesn't care. I can just hear his thoughts on how it's my fault he's peed on the floor for not putting a diaper on him. He simply removes all wet clothes and runs around naked, which is his preference.

For the past five days, I've being trying this new method, one I heard about through one of the online parent groups (yeah I can't believe that me, Sam Winchester had to consult with a parent group). It's sort of a five-day potty training boot camp in which you stay home with your child. You leave their diaper off, you don't go anywhere; you get them to sit on the potty every hour. It's been four days of us getting cabin fever and Dean peeing (and pooing) all over the house. This method sucks and I don't recommend it. Least not for my tyke. Let's just say he's already won the diaper war and has his diaper back.

"Dean Daniel, where are you, Sur?"

I hear the cutest little giggle coming from behind the plant. It doesn't help that he's the most adorable monkey around town. I spot him and snatch him up. He continues to giggle at me, while I head toward the potty. "Was hidin' Daddy," I decipher from his smooshed, soother blocked words.

"I know you were, Daddy found you."

We have a potty in almost every room of the house, just in case we can get him to it. We have this theory that if he actually uses it once, he'll be so darn proud of himself, he'll want to do it all the time. I stand him in front of the one in the living room and take off his pants and the diaper he's wearing. "You're going to sit on the potty for a few minutes, baby boy."

He rips his soother out. "No way! Not sittin' on that stupid thing, Daddy."

"Where did you learn that word, Mister?"

"No place," he says biting his lip.

"It's not a nice word and you're not to use it. Do you understand me, Sur?"

His eyes well up. He doesn't like my scolding voice. "Uh-huh, Daddy." He puts his soother back in.

"It's okay, Sugar. Now you going to be a nice boy and sit on the potty a few minutes for Daddy?"

"Don't want to."

Frustrating. I could just sit him on it anyway and I may just, but he'll scream his head off. "I know, Dean sits on his potty for Daddy and you can have a candy." Yep. You heard it here folks. Sam Winchester has reached desperate and I'm bribing my child with candy. Uh, it's not candy-candy though. I've got versions that contain cane sugar versus the high-fructose garbage. Dean doesn't get that kind, but he doesn't know the difference and it's still very much sugar. At least it's natural.

"Candy?"

"Yeah. One candy." I'm hopeful; he's thinking about it.

He takes his soother out. "How long?"

Why did my son have to be a con artist in his last life? I'm pretty sure most three-year-old would miss asking 'how long.' "Five minutes." Great. Now I'm negotiating with a three-year-old. This is what my life has come to.

"No way. Dean, Dean, Dean only does it for _seven_ minutes Daddy."

I smile inside. That's where Dean is like a three-year-old. They have no concept of time. He thinks seven minutes is shorter than five. "Okay, Dean Bean. You win. Seven minutes on the potty and you get a candy."

"Deal Daddy." His soother goes back in his mouth.

I'm holding my breath because I almost can't believe it. He's actually going to do it. He sits down on his potty, with no tears for the first time. God I love bribery. Not that I haven't already tried that, but I've been saving the candy thing. I've bribed him with other things he wasn't interested in, apparently. Even pie wasn't good enough. "You want Daddy to read you a story?"

"Please, Daddy."

I take longer than anyone has ever taken to read him "I have to Go," by Robert Munsch. He sits there in nothing but his t-shirt and Michael necklace laughing. He thinks that book is funny. At the end of seven minutes, he hasn't gone, but I feel extremely victorious. I do realize I should have told him he has to actually go pee to get the candy, but I'll try that next time. "Diaper please," he says, because he won't wear pull-ups.

"Okay, Dean. C'mon." I put him in a diaper and some shorts and we walk to the kitchen to get his 'candy.' I give him one little chewy gummy-type candy. "Thank-you, Daddy." Least I've got a polite little boy, most of the time.

Five minutes later, he pees in his diaper. "M'wet Daddy."

"Lordy be Dean. Why won't you use the potty?"

His soother is popped out again, he doesn't seem to mind continuously popping it in and out when he talks. "Dean told you, but you said it isn't nice Dean 'Chester."

He calls himself Dean Chester. It's so fudging cute. I sigh. "You think the potty is stupid," I say.

"Yeah. And under's wear too."

That's it. I'm abandoning this method.

I change Dean's diaper then I let Pala in. I had kept her out, because it was just another thing while I was trying to potty train Dean and I wanted all my focus on him. He gets excited to have his dog inside with him. She's quite a bit bigger than he is, but she's well trained and takes good care of him. She's equally excited to come in and she barks at him. "Hi Pala," he says patting her. "Why's she outside so long, Daddy?"

"Because Dean was supposed to use the potty."

"Not usin' it Daddy."

"I know. But what are you going to do when you're older?"

"Diapers."

I laugh. "Adults can't use diapers Dean Bean."

"Can so."

And actually when I think about it, adults can use diapers. Great. Now I'm losing arguments with my three-year-old.

Our chef Andrew, comes into the kitchen with bags of fresh groceries. "Sorry I'm a little behind, sir. The market was insane."

"No problem, Andy," Dean says. I shake my head at him and pick my little monster up.

Andrew laughs. "Thank-you little Winchester."

"Thank-you Andrew. Castiel is going to be late anyway. I'm going to take this one outside," I decide on second thought.

"We, we, we goin' outside, Daddy?" he says excited. We haven't been outside in four days and believe me he's asked.

"For a little bit. Let's get shoes on."

I put him down and he runs to the sliding door we just let Pala in, she follows us even though she was just happy to be inside. Really she just wants to be where we are. I let Dean take the time to put on his own shoes. I'd still do everything for him, but I know I have to let him some things. He needs to be independent much as I both hate seeing him grow up and worry he's not growing up at all. Sometimes he ages so slow, it's nerve-wracking.

It takes longer, but when he gets them on I open the door and Pala and I follow him outside. He runs fast for the playground. I sometimes wonder if he subconsciously thinks he's running from demons. He never says anything about it.

Dean has become far more adept at climbing things and I don't really have to help him, so I let him climb all over his playground, while Pala and I watch. Of course I have to congratulate him every time he makes it to the top of the ladder. He waits for it and reminds me if I don't.

It's not long before Dal approaches us. He's done school for the semester since it's June, but, he was out with friends today. I don't blame him—the potty training thing has got to be my least fun thing about the Dean experience so far. "You give up?" he says.

"Yeah, I'm done. Dean and I decided today that he really can wear diapers forever. Otherwise, why would they even invent adult diapers?"

Dal laughs his loud laugh and Dean hears him right away. "Uncle Dal!" He slides down the slide and run to his uncle who throws him up in the air and sets him on his hip.

"Dean sat on the dumb ol' potty today," he tells him.

"Dumb is not acceptable either Mr. Winchester," I say, but don't scold him as harshly.

"Nothin' is," Dean says.

Dal laughs. "You did? Daddy seems to think you're wearing diapers forever."

"Dean is."

"Then why sit on the potty?"

"Candy." He squirms to get down and return to the playground. Dally's laughing his face off at me.

"What happened to 'I probably won't need these, but just in case?'"

"Today I reached just in case."

Next to arrive is Michael. He stops by for dinner occasionally, but not as often as he used to. He's taller now, looks about twelve or thirteenish. His features are more cut and less boyish. "Hello Mr. Winchester. Dallas."

"Heya Michael," Dal says.

"Hi Michael," I say.

"Michael!" Dean notices right away and comes running back toward us. Michael picks him up as Dean bounds into his arms.

"Hello, Dean."

"C'mon. Let's play."

"You play. I'll stand here and ensure you don't smash your head in. Are you wearing a diaper?" Michael asks Dean, but looks at me. "I thought today was the last day of potty training boot camp?"

"It was tomorrow actually and that's over."

"No potty!" Dean says getting fed up with everyone asking him and especially since it's Michael. He wants Michael to think highly of him.

"On second thought Mr. Winchester. I think I will go play with Dean. He looks like he needs some cheering up."

"Thank-you Michael. Would you mind if Dal and I went inside? I could use a…cup of tea." Where you see tea read break. I need a break. I love my little monster more than anything in the world, but it's been a trying four days.

"No problem Mr. Winchester," he says.

~GUW~

Yeah, fuck. Michael doesn't suddenly want to play with me; I'm not stupid. He's going to have a 'chat' with me.

Daddy's gone with Uncle Dal. I fucking love my daddy but I could use a little break from him. Four days locked in that house with him trying to get me to use that fucking plastic toilet? Yeah. We need to go our separate ways for a bit.

Michael turns his glowing blue angel eyes on me. "Is it okay to speak to me like that Dean?"

"Fuck off, Michael."

"Wouldn't Daddy like to know that is little bitty Dean says words like 'fuck?'

"You do too."

"Yes. I do. Well I won't tell him, for now, but you will behave yourself. Now why won't you use the potty?"

"It's, it's, it's stupid!" Yeah, I fucking do that now and there doesn't seem to be a way to control it. I repeat random words sometimes.

"Your tiny kid brain would think that an acceptable answer. You aren't really planning on wearing diapers forever are you?"

"Yep. Under's wear is stupid too."

"You can't."

"Can too."

"The only adults that wear diapers are those who are incontinent."

"What does n-cont…contin… what does that mean?"

"It means one cannot control his or her bladder."

"What's, bladder?"

"It's the place in your body that holds pee."

"Ew. Dean doesn't have that."

"Yes you do. Everyone has one."

"Not me."

"It's not something you get to decide."

"Can too."

"Can not."

"Can too."

"Can no—will you stop it?"

"Not goin' pee on the potty, ever never."

"You will someday."

"All see."

"It's _I'll_ see. As in, I will see. Not 'all' see. That doesn't make sense. And it would be nice if you did start saying some 'I's.'"

"Stop it Michael. Youse is just bein' mean!"

"I'm being mean? What do you think you're being like to your daddy by not going potty?"

He probably has a point, but I don't care and I don't like it. I start sniffling a little. It's been a pretty exhausting day. I'm tired of fighting with everyone over this.

"Oh, come here then." He picks me up and I curl into him. "I'm just trying to help. Is there something you're not telling us?"

"No. Dean tol' everyone already. Don't like the stupid potty."

"Hmmm," he says to himself.

"C'we play now Michael? Please?" I'm still sniffling and wiping at tears, but I'm trying not to cry like a baby in front of Michael.

"Okay, Duck. We won't say another word about it."

~GUW~

I come in the door to a very serious looking tea party. Chef Andrew is just heading out the door, he tells us the dishes of hot are in the oven and the salad is ready on the counter. "What's going on? Where's Dean?"

Sam's already balling his fists. I know what that means; things didn’t got well today and he knows I'm just going to tell him to try again. The balled fists are a clear indication he wants to argue with me, which is not on. We can have a discussion about it; he knows this, so I assume this means he doesn't feel there's a discussion to have; he's decided and that's that.

But some time, not so very long ago he and I made a decision. I didn't feel confident with Dean when he was littler and I told Sam I would just follow his lead with every and all things Dean. That of course blew up in our faces. It isn't our dynamic; it's not how we work best. Without the firm structure we were used to, Sam relaxed everything. And relaxed is being nice; he basically let Dean do whatever he wanted. Yes, we are still talking about the same Sam. Sam, Captain of the ship Sam who almost flawlessly ran a crew of a billion Colts.

I think part of it had to do with Dean being his own cute little bear cub, but most of it was that _he_ was now in a role he neither wanted, nor had lived on a permanent basis for a very long time. Everything was okay for awhile, amazing even, but slowly things began to slip; it was Sam's way of asking me to take over again, without actually asking me to take over again, because, well, he _couldn't_ out right ask. Technically me throwing the reigns at him was still a decision I had made, he didn't want to 'argue' that with me either.

So, I came home one day to a completely destroyed house, a Dean screeching all over the place, and Sam watching over Dean like there was nothing wrong with the picture.

"What's going on in here?" I asked.

"Well, Dean wanted to play with the pots and pans, but then he got bored with that and dumped out his toy box. And, oh, sorry about the plant, I tried to stop him, told him no at least seven times, but he wouldn't listen, so I gave up. It's just a plant Cassy, it can be cleaned up…" he went on like that for twenty minutes telling me all the things he couldn't stop our son from doing, things that of course he could and had in the past. So long as it wasn't threatening, he just let him do it rather than make him cry.

It was one of the hardest conversations of our marriage to have. The trickiest part is understanding it's not that Sam isn't capable of disciplining Dean, of course he is. But now I'd left everything completely up to him, so he reverted to Colt. But not just Colt, because believe it or not Colt's do have some modicum of discipline (just not a lot in my opinion) it was Colt on Xanax. After an almost all night talk, Sam basically asked me if I would be 'the bad guy,' with Dean. He wanted the structure back. He wanted particular things to be because 'I said so.'

"If I do this Sam, what I say goes. No arguing with me about hard decisions. You aren't going to like some of my decisions and neither is Dean."

He readily agreed. "Yes, Cassy, please. I trust you. You're so good with him now. You've learned so much. I want my big alpha male back."

That's the Cole's notes of a long story. Of why my Sam's fists are balled. We've of course returned to our place of happy medium, where Sam makes all the smaller decisions for Dean day to day; he's got no problem disciplining Dean once again. But the potty training thing has become a big decision. We're supposed to talk about it and I decide. I have a feeling he's already decided without me.

"He's with Michael outside Cassy, I'll go get him."

Yeah, see? I'm right. He's not supposed to be outside. "No, hold on. Excuse us for a moment, will you Dal?"

He nods and leaves. Sam's sitting at the bench style kitchen table we have, tea mug in front of him, staring at it.

"What's going on, Sam?"

"I can't do it. I can't believe it. I've trained countless kids, but I can't seem to train my own son."

"The method you've been trying these four days, it's not working?"

"It's not."

"There's still one more day. It was supposed to take five. Let's finish the one more day, Sam."

He balls his fists harder. "Please, Cas. I can't do one more day."

"We committed to five days."

"I know we did Cassy, but it's not working and it's exhausting both of us. In all these months I've been trying, these four days have definitely been the worst."

"Do you have another strategy?"

"Not yet Cas, but—"

"Then we go ahead as planned."

"Yes, Cas."

We turn to the sound of the sliding door; Dean climbs inside with Pala and Michael at his heels. "Papa!" Our little boy runs to me and I grab him up pressing kisses all over his face.

"Did you miss me, Kiddo?"

"Yeah, Papa."

"I missed you too."

We all sit down to eat, including Michael who is almost like a barnacle around here. I feel like he never goes home; I'd like to scrape him away so he'd float out to sea. Dinner feels tense for some reason, but I have no idea why, unless, has it really got to this state because of the whole potty training fiasco? I haven't exactly helped out as much as I should because work has been crazy lately. Maybe I'll rectify the situation after dinner. I'll have a go with Dean and the potty. How hard can it be?

When Dean's all done, I pick him up off the bench (our table isn't too tall, he doesn't need a booster seat) and tell him, "okay, Kiddo. Time to try the potty with Papa."

"But, but, but. Don't want to, Papa. Dean doesn't like it."

"I know you don't, but Papa says you have to. We must do what Papa says."

"Noooo. No Papa!"

"Excuse me little man. You don't tell your papa no."

"Daddy! Daddy, please!" he says scrambling to get down.

"You can sit on the potty, or the naughty step," I say firmly. There, that should clear things up. "Chose."

That calms him down, but he firmly says, "naughty step."

Sam is trying not to smile at me by biting his cheeks. "Okay. Naughty step it is Dean."

I sit him on there, but somehow I feel like the jerk when he glares at me as he hugs his knees. I count to three in my head and walk back to the kitchen. "That's what I've been dealing with for four days, Cassy."

"Okay. You've made your point, Sam. What do we do about it?"

"If I may interject, Mr. Winchester, sir?"

At least the little urchin is respectful. "Yes, Michael?" I say through grit teeth.

"It's the potty Dean doesn't like."

"Yes, we know that Michael, honey. He wants to wear diapers forever," Sam says.

"Yes. He'd rather wear diapers than use the potty, but what if he used the regular toilet?"

The toilet? That's crazy. He's too little. But Dal and Sam are already having a private brother-brother talk without words. I can tell their minds are spinning with ideas from Michael's input. "Cheerios," they suddenly say at the same time.

"Cheerios?"

"Of course, Michael! You're a genius," Sam says.

"He is?"

"Dally you get the step stool. I'll get the cheerios, Michael come with us. Cas, you'd better be the one to get Dean, meet us in his bathroom upstairs." Sam's grinning ear-to-ear, happier than I've seen him in days. Dal's excited. Michael doesn't seem to know what's going on, but he follows Sam. I think I'd better just do as I've been told.

I go back out to Dean who's still on the naughty step, but now he's got his head in his knees, hugging them and crying his eyes out, his little body shaking. Yep. I'm an asshole. It's the _kind_ of crying that I'm hearing; that's why I know I'm an asshole. It's not just the 'Dean didn't get his way' cry, that one doesn't bother me. It's his heartbroken sob, and I know Papa wasn't being a good Dean listener. "Okay Dean. Come see Papa." I'm lucky Dean is extremely forgiving.

He perks up right away and reaches for me. "De-dean's s-s-sorry, Pa-papa," his jagged little crying voice pushes out, clearly scared I'm never going to forgive him for misbehaving.

"Papa's sorry too. Papa was too harsh, but you can't say no to Papa when he says something."

"Okay, Papa. Don’t like that potty," he says apologetically.

"What if Papa told you, you never have to see that potty again?" I know I'm making this promise too soon, but I have complete faith in whatever it is that Sam and Dal are doing.

"Thank-you, Papa! Just gonna wear diapers for always. Dean doesn't mind," he says squeezing my neck tight. "Love you Papa."

"Love you too, Angel. C'mon. I think Daddy's got something to show you upstairs."

I keep him on my hip as he squeezes me tight and bring him to the upstairs bathroom. The step stool is in front of the toilet; Dal and Sam are smiling like loons. Michael's got a confused scowl on his face.

"Hey Uncle Dal," Sam says when Dean and I enter. "I have to pee, do you?"

"Funny you should ask Sammy, I do have to pee."

"Should we pee in a potty?" Sam says.

"No way. Potty's are silly. I've got a better idea," Dal says.

Dal reaches into the cereal box. They aren't actual Cheerios, they're a brand called "Organic-O's" that Sam buys for Dean instead. But they look a lot like Cheerios. He sprinkles some into the toilet. Then both he and Sam unzip their pants, pull out their dicks and start peeing into the toilet and aim at the Cheerios with their pee streams, almost like they're using their dicks as a laser guns. Michael looks disgusted, but when Dean starts laughing, Michael doesn't look quite so disgusted anymore.

I bring him closer so he can see better. He points and laughs as Sam and Dal really make a show of shooting the Cheerios, but eventually they run out of pee. "Again, Daddy!" he says.

"Aw, Dean Bean, we'd like to, but we're all out of pee. Wait, I know. Maybe Dean and Papa want to try?"

"Dean does it?" He can't believe his good luck at getting to try something that looks like so much fun.

"Yep. Dean does it."

He nods excited. I give him to Sam and Sam pulls his pants and diaper off. He stands him on the stool. I trade places with Dal and pull out my penis. Dean watches closely to what I'm doing; how I'm holding my penis and tries to mimic it. "Can Daddy help you a little Dean Bean?"

"Please, Daddy." Sam just guides Dean's hands a little, so they're more firmly on his 'little Dean.'

"Okay, Papa and Dean. You ready?"

Dean nods. I begin by letting a trickle out of my penis, Dean looks up and smiles at me, then back at his daddy. "C'mon baby boy, shoot the Cheerios," Sam says.

It's a little trickle at first, but then Dean pushes out more pee and hits one of the Cheerios. "Got it Papa!"

"Good job, Kiddo."

He stops though and looks over at Michael who's clearly trying to fade into the background; I stop peeing too in order to save it in case I need to coax Dean again. "Michael does it too," Dean says.

"Oh no. I'm good."

We all know Dean's waiting for Michael to join in, so we all look pleadingly over at him. "You can't be serious. You want me to join in on this little family pee party?"

Yep. That's what we're asking him to do. Nope, none of us feel weird about it, so long as Dean will pee in the toilet. "It's 'cause he's continent, prolly. He tol' me afore. Think it means he can't pee," Dean explains sagely.

"That's _incontinent_ and I'm not—oh never mind." Michael joins us whipping out his dick. "Well, carry on then," Michael says.

Dean laughs as he starts peeing into the toilet again with Michael and me, all of us aiming for Cheerios. "Got it! Got one Daddy!"

"Ha, ha! I got several," Michael says. "I win."

"No. Dean wins," Dean informs him. I shake off my penis when I run out of pee and try not too laugh at them. I do smile wide.

"You did it Dean Bean!" Sam says picking Dean up and kissing him all over. "You peed in the toilet like a big boy!"

We all zip our penises back in. "I think this calls for a celebration," I say.

"How about ice cream, sweetheart?" Sam says.

"Yeah Daddy."

~GUW~

"You owe me for that, Dean. I peed in a toilet across from your papa. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"

I don't know what he's talking about. That was seriously fun. "You're apposed to be readin' to me. It's time for all the Deans to go to sleep Daddy says."

"Your speech and your grammar are atrocious."

"What's 'trocious?"

"It means, not good."

"Oh. Say that then."

"Or you could learn some new words."

"Read Michael."

"All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!" This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end," he reads.

But I'm already getting tired. It's been a long day. I yawn. I'm all snuggled up to him as he reads. "That's it. Close your eyes my little Duck. Tomorrow's going to be a better day than this one."

"You comin' back tomorrow?"

"If I can."

"Why you can't?"

"That's hard to explain. I just can't."

"But you'll come back sometime?"

"Always."

~GUW~

When I enter the bedroom Sam is waiting, kneeling, with the black paddle out. "Put that away, Sam."

"But I broke a rule, Cas, you can't just—"

"I can't just what?" Giving him my 'are you really challenging me,' eyes.

"I'm sorry, Cas. I'll put it away."

I sit on the bed. I'm only in a pair of black boxer briefs, but Sam is completely naked. After he's put the paddle away, he returns to me and I pull him up and guide him over my lap. I open with a firm swat. "You did break a rule, but it was my fault you did. I haven't been providing proper guidance."

"I make my own choices Cassy."

I give him another firm swat, hard enough he hisses this time. "I'm talking, Samuel." I wait to see if he's going to be quiet, rubbing his beautiful ass, deciding where I'll put my next swat. Left cheek. I spank him again. When I think I've got his attention, I start. "I've been working too much lately and unfortunately that's not likely to change for a bit, but you've been left to deal with Dean and I haven't been much help except to be a domineering prick. Would you agree?"

"Definitely not, I like when you're domineering."

"I haven't been helpful though. And I can't say I'm likely to be anymore helpful with what's going on at work, but I will listen harder to both you and Dean." I spank him ten more times alternating cheeks. This may seem kind of fucked up to you. I'm the one who's fucked up, yet he's getting the spanking. I hope you can see by now that he's not being punished. We're reestablishing safety. I'm telling him he can depend on me, even if I'm not perfect. Sam's the one who taught me this one.

"I know you will Cassy, but Cassy I need…"

"You need something harder than my hand, Baby?"

"Please," he chokes out. He's already starting to cry. This has been rough on him, rougher than I've been able to pick up on at present.

"All right then. Go grab my wooden paddle." It's important it's not the black one, that's for rule breaking only. And yes he did technically break the rule, but I want it to be clear that despite the broken rule, this time calls for a different kind of spanking because of the circumstances surrounding the breaking of that rule.

He's quick and when he returns I begin without further discussion. His ass is fairly red and looks sore, before I know he's done. I don't even let him dwell over my lap, I pull him up on the bed with me and we lie there wrapped together as he finishes crying. I'll rub lotion on him in a bit. "I'm sorry Baby."

"Don't apologize Cas, please. I shouldn't have made that decision without you."

"I wasn't likely to listen Sam."

"That's what I signed on for. No one would have gotten hurt if we'd gone the one more day—it just would have been the day from hell."

"I don't want you to have days from hell. So I'm glad you broke the rule. You needed to break the rule; you needed the spanking and I needed to see." Having Dean has changed me so much. I'm still fairly ridged, controlling, protective and obsessive, but I've learned to bend some. Well, bending as much as someone like me can bend.

"Thanks for that spanking, Cas. I so needed that."

"Good, Baby. Glad to oblige. But what do we do from here? I'm having a hard time imaging that Dean's just going to comply from here. And sure he's peed in the toilet, but how do we get him to do the other thing?"

"There are smaller, Dean sized toilet seats we can install on the toilets. Dal and I are going to do it tomorrow. I was so focused on trying to get Dean to use the potty, I forgot they existed. I think that will work. And if it doesn't, Cas, I think we need to let it go. He'll go at some point. I'd rather just wait for him than continue to force him. This is one of those times where we need to let Dean decide."

"Rumor has it, our boy also does not like 'under's wear.'"

Sam laughs. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do about that yet. One thing at a time though. It will all work out, Cas. I know it."

If he says so, I believe him. "Okay, Sam. I'm in for that. I think you're right. Let's abort operation potty training and how do you say it? Just go with it? Why do I feel like I've been hustled by a Colt?"

Sam laughs. "No really, Cassy. If you think we should keep trying, I'll find something else. I'm just telling you what I think."

"After tonight. I'm convinced. Oh god, his little face Sam—it's really tearing him up. I like your plan. I support it. Let me know what I can to help."

"I love you, Cassy."

"I love you too, Baby. But enough of this heavy stuff for now, I think some congratulations are in order for a certain genius Daddy."

Sam smiles wide as I crawl down his body then swallow up his cock.

~GUW~

"Peanuuuut! Peanut butter! Jelly! Peanuuuut! Peanut Butter! Jelly!" I'm singing for Daddy as he gets me my breakfast and am sitting like a good boy at the table with Tigger. He's going to help me eat. He's also guarding my soother. Yes, I'm three and still have a soother. Another thing I plan to keep forever.

"That's a good song Dean Bean," he says putting a plate of toast and peanut butter and jelly in front of me, along with some juice. "You have to go pee yet?"

"No Daddy."

"But you'll tell Daddy, and we'll go shoot at cheerios together?"

"Yeah Daddy! It's fun!"

"Okay. And you sure you don't want to put underwear on? If you pee in the toilet, you don't need a diaper."

"Dean's sure, Daddy."

"Okay, but you might regret it when we can't get you out of your diaper fast enough and you miss out on shooting Cheerios."

"Dean's fast, Daddy."

He sighs. "And stubborn."

"What's stubburn?"

"It means you won't do anything but the things you want to do, no matter what anyone else says."

That does sound like me. "Yeah Daddy. Dean's stubburn."

For some reason, it makes him laugh. Don't know why—he said it. I was just agreeing. Uncle Dal walks in. "I'm going out to get what we talked about Sammy, I'll eat when I get back." Daddy nods at him. "Hey there half-pint. Looks like you got peanut butter and jelly?"

"Yep and Dean's stubburn 'cause m'not wearin' under's wear." I want to show him I learned a new word from Daddy.

For some reason he looks at Daddy and they're both smiling really huge and biting their cheeks. "Okay, Half-pint. See you in a bit."

Daddy sits with me, but doesn't start his breakfast, he's waiting for Papa. I wonder if I should wait on mine, but the peanut butter and jelly looks so fucking good. "Go ahead Dean Bean," he says. If Daddy says it's okay, I'm gonna eat. I dig in.

"Wow Kiddo. Peanut butter and jelly?" Papa says when he sits at the table with us.

"Nana's jelly," Daddy tells him. I like Nana's jelly. "It's a special occasion. Dean said he's going to tell Daddy when he needs to pee and we'll go shoot Cheerios."

"Sounds like you guys get to have all the fun. Papa has to go to boring old work."

"Sounds like you need to be stubburn like Dean, Papa. Then youse can stay home."

Papa looks at Daddy and he's smiling too. I didn't realize stubborn makes people so happy.

I eat all my breakfast. Always do, yet I always get congratulated for it like I've never done it before. I'm pretty much a rock star around this house. Everyone's interested in what Dean's doing and I get praised for the smallest of things.

"I will take your suggestion under advisement, Dean," Papa says as he gets ready to leave.

"What's that?" They're always saying such big words, but I'm gonna learn as many as I can.

"Take your suggestion under advisement? Means, I will remember what you said and perhaps do that thing when the right time arises."

"Oh. Thank-you, Papa." I'm very polite. Well except to Michael sometimes, but he can be a real dick.

He stands and picks me up out of my seat, squishing me to him. "I love you so much little boy," Papa says. "Can you stay like this forever?"

"You're silly Papa. Dean has to grow up someday."

"Oh yeah? Why's that? If you can wear diapers forever, why not just stay a little boy too?"

"Um, 'cause then Dean hasta move to Neverland. And it's only little boys and girls that can go there. Don't wanna leave my daddies."

"Well reasoned, son. Besides I would forbid it. Peter Pan can't have you. You're mine and Daddy's little boy." He kisses my cheek and sets me near Pala on the floor. She always sits by me when we eat, just in case I drop something. She's very helpful that way.

He pulls Daddy to him and gives him a long kiss. "I'm sorry, Baby. It's another long one today. Just eat dinner without me. And I think I have to T-R-A-V-E-L next week."

I'm not fucking stupid. Whenever they spell shit, it's shit they don't want me to know. Well I'm gonna learn how to spell too. Assholes.

"It's okay, Cassy. We'll talk later." Papa kisses Daddy again, as I pet Pala and try to figure out what they're talking about.

When Papa's long gone I ask Daddy, "what's T-R-V-L Daddy?"

"How'd you remember all that?"

"Dean's smart."

"Too smart," he frowns. Isn't it good I'm smart? "Papa's going away next week, Sugar."

I tear up. "Papa stays with Daddy and Dean."

Daddy picks me up. "He always comes back, baby boy."

I cuddle into him, not fucking happy about this news, the news they tried to hide, and sniffle and wipe tears. "Maybe we can have Michael sleep over when Papa's away. Would you like that, Dean Bean?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, we'll ask Papa later."

I stay clung to him as he cleans up a little bit. When he's done he says, "okay. Daddy has to pee. You want to pee with me?"

"Okay, Daddy." He puts me down and I run to the stairs. He helps me with my pants and diaper and I climb the step stool.

"If Daddy pees with you, I can't help you aim. You think you can try on your own?"

"Dean does it, Daddy," I assure him.

"Okay." He puts some new Cheerios in the toilet and we have fun shooting at them together. I do dribble some onto the toilet seat and the step stool and my feet, but Daddy says it's okay. It can all be cleaned up and it's fine because I'm practicing. Yeah. Let's just be glad Michael's not here to see the mess.

Daddy cleans me up. "How about a pull-up Dean?"

"Don't like those, Daddy. Diaper please."

"They're the same as diapers, Dean and they're faster."

"No thank-you Daddy."

We go to my room where I have a bed that's lower to the ground than Papa and Daddy's bed. It's just for Dean, they told me. I grab a new soother off my little side table, pop it in my mouth and lay my half-naked self down for Daddy. He puts a new diaper on me and some shorts.

"Thank-you for peeing with Daddy, Dean."

When Uncle Dal returns, he's got big bags with him, but he sets them down and takes me out to play with Pala, 'till he notices me getting sleepy. Fucking tiny body. "Okay, Half-pint. Time for a small snooze then we'll do something fun after."

~GUW~

Dal and I install the smaller toilet seats in a couple of the washrooms. "I hope this works. It's really the last thing we've got. If not, Dean will just have to explain to his future lovers why he's in a diaper."

Dally laughs at me. "He'll change his mind at some point. It won't get to that."

"I know. I'm only joking. My real concern is that soother. You had yours 'till four. It doesn't look like Dean's parting with it any time soon."

"Let's worry about one thing at a time big brother."

I hear my sleepy baby call for me. Yeah, I know he's not technically a baby anymore, but I'm still allowed to call him that, right? I go on up to retrieve him. He's agile enough to make it out of his little bed and down the stairs on his own, but the house is so big, I hate imagining sleepy little Dean frantically searching for me when he wakes up. Instead, I carry a wireless monitor around with me and I've instructed him to call for me. Despite all this potty stuff, he actually is a very good boy and listens well for Cas and I. I know he especially tries to please his papa.

I open the door and he's laying there, hair tousled, cuddled around Tigger and sucking his soother. He looks sleepy green eyes at me. I snatch him up and he cuddles into me like a koala. "Did Dean have a nice snooze?"

He nods into me.

"Good." Dal and I get him set up with his lunch. It's after that we decide to show him what we've done. We spent his naptime reading many stories online and I confirmed what I was already thinking many times over. It seems that some little boys and girls (and as luck would have it my little boy) just need to decide on their own when it's time to use the toilet. We've already overcome a huge hurdle figuring out that he really is never going to use a little plastic potty.

"So half-pint, today Daddy and I put this on the toilet, just special for Dean," Dally says showing him the smaller seat and how it lifts. "That way if Dean wants to try going number two, he won't fall in the toilet."

Dean began that expression in our house. When he began talking more, he told me one day, "number two, Daddy." I'd heard it before, so I knew what he meant, but I couldn't believe it was coming out of him since none of us use that expression, least we didn't before, now we use it all the time. We think it's something he remembers from his old life. That's where I think 'no place' is.

"Do you want to see what it feels like Dean? Daddy won't even take your pants or diaper off."

He looks unsure, but he nods slowly. He's got his brave face on. I've seen him do this lots, when he knows I really want him to do something, but he's scared. The potty thing was different than now. He thought the potty was 'stupid' so of course had no problem telling me just how stupid. But now, he's _afraid_. Does he think he'll fall in?

"This is where Daddy, Papa, Dally and even Michael come to do number two."

"Michael?"

"Yep. Michael too," I say.

"Dean does it Daddy." He wants to be like Michael.

"Okay. Here we go." I slowly sit him on the smaller seat and let go. He sits there for all of thirty seconds, with his little feet just hanging off the edge and he just can't do it.

"Daddy please get Dean," he screams with his little arms flailing out for me. I scoop him up right away and hug him tight.

"It's okay, Dean Bean. Daddy thanks you for trying. You don't have to use it. It's here when you want to try and Daddy, Uncle Dal and even Papa will help you, okay?"

"Kay."

If it hadn't already been decided, after seeing his scared face, it's decided now: The new plan is to completely ease off. I'd really lucked out with my brother, sisters and cousins. They wanted to be out of diapers. Dean just doesn't. Cas and I might be ready for him to be, but it's not up to us. It's up to Dean. I don't want him upset everyday over this, it's no wonder he's pushing back so hard. I'm letting him know what's available for him and he'll tell me what he needs.

"And you can have diapers as long as you want. 'Till you're forty and Daddy will still change them for you." Now that I'm not obsessed over reaching a goal, I can more rationally see that it won't be the case that Dean will wear diapers forever. He'll reach a point and he'll _want_ to get rid of diapers.

"Thank-you Daddy. That mean you took Dean's 'visement?"

"I did take Dean's advisement. That's very good sweetheart—you're a smart cookie."

He smiles.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Dal says. "Let's go outside with Uncle Dal's guitar and sing some of your favorite Sharon, Lois and Bram songs. How about that?"

That Canadian trio is still one of Dean's favorites. He's a lot more open to admitting that. He dives for Uncle Dal.

It's sunny, so we set up on a patch of grass near one of the giant willow trees on the property, with Pala and Tigger. Dal sturms a chord. "Ready, Dean?"

"Yep." He's standing ready to dance and sing. He's already given me his soother for safe keeping.

"One bottle of pop, two bottle a pop, three bottle a pop, four bottle a pop, five bottle a pop, six bottle of pop, seven bottle…Pop! Sammy!"

"Fish and chips and vinegar, vinegar, vinegar. Fish and chips and vinegar, pepper, pepper, pepper, salt."

"Dean!"

"Don't throw junk in my yard! My yard! My backyard! Don't throw junk in my yard. My yard's all full." He does pretty darn good for his age. It's not all the right words, but it's pretty close.

"Everyone!"

Now we all have to sing our parts simultaneously. Of course Dally and I do well, and Dean is all over the place practically shouting his part, but he's fudging cute, he's dancing his little heart out and is having a great time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to one of my favourite childhood singers: Lois Lilienstein from the group Sharon, Lois and Bram who passed on earlier this week. 
> 
> If you want to watch how they do "Fish and Chips and Vinegar," copy and paste this in your browser: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQvkPQbQYyU&list=PLRVQtGx8Q2Pm6jsT3ufPKUpqP0AH7JGBO


	2. The not so Great Day Before Papa Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to do two things to poor Tigger in a row.

"Just a sec Mama," I say and pull the phone from my ear. "Dean. Sweetheart. Be careful, please." Dean's full of vinegar this morning and he and Tigger are running from Pala who's chasing him 'round and 'round the kitchen island and therefore by my feet since I'm standing at the kitchen island, leaning on my forearms, against the counter by the sink.

Mama and I are going over a few last minute details for Dean's birthday. Everyone's going to be there.

He trips once, but Pala waits for him to get back up and they're off again. He's going to hurt himself, but I don't want to ruin his fun. It's a good thing Cas isn't here. He's not a big fan of Dean running in the house. It's not a rule per se, but it's extremely frowned upon.

He leaves tomorrow; I'm going to have a crying little boy, he's already beginning to mope; since he's happy for the moment, I leave him to his playing.

"Sounds like he's going to make a fine Colt," Mama says when I come back to her.

Yeah. Somehow he is part Colt, but I need to raise a Winchester.

The Dean and Pala parade squeal and bark out of the kitchen. "I think we're all set then Mama. We'll see you next week."

"Okay. Take care baby."

I hang up and hear a crash followed by crying. Fudge. Dean's hurt himself. Dean hurts himself about every ten minutes. Okay. That's an exaggeration, but it's a lot.

I run into the living room. By the looks of it, Dean's smucked his face into the coffee table, it's moved and knocked into the end table causing all the pictures to fall over. He must have hit his head on the floor. "Dean, Dean, Dean falled, Daddy." He's crying, complete with tears.

He's rubbing his head and his face with one hand as he reaches for me with the other. I grab him up and double fudge; there's blood. His lip is cut. It's not a horrible cut (no need for stitches), but it must hurt the little guy. "Aw. My poor Dean Bean. Let's put you back together again." I carry him to the kitchen where I pull out my first aid kit, which has become more of a Dean-kit. It's stocked with everything I need to fix what usually happens to Dean. Pala follows very interested in what's happened to her boy.

I try to distract him by talking to him. "Did you bang your head?"

"Y-yeah. Hurt Dean 'Chester, Daddy."

Aw. He's so fudging cute. "You did hurt Dean Chester, but that's okay. Daddy's going to fix him." I run a cloth under cool water and carefully clean up the blood before I hold the cloth there to stop the bleeding, while he sits on the counter. I don't think he's hit his head hard enough for it to be concussion worthy, but then again I didn't see. I'm well versed in the signs and symptoms; I'll watch him.

"Are we going to go to Gramma and Grampa's house today? They forgot one of Gramma's special dresses, we have to go get it for her."

"Yeah," he sniffles.

"And we'll visit the garden too. I think we can harvest some stuff."

"Okay, Daddy."

When it's been long enough, I pull the cloth away. Fiddlesticks. I can tell it's going to bruise. "How's your noggin', Pumpkin?"

"Is good, Daddy. Daddy makes it all better. Thank-you."

That's the one thing I don't have to remind Dean of. He's very polite. Except sometimes when he's pissed off, but even then he's been known to snap a 'please' at you.

"Kiss?" he says.

I kiss his little owie.

"Batman?"

"You want a Batman Band-Aid?"

"Please, Daddy."

I wasn't planning on putting one on his face, so I put one on his leg. I've done this with him before. It doesn't seem to matter where the owie is, s'long as he gets a Band-Aid. "There you go, sugar."

He's smiling now.

"Dean's ready to play with Pala, again?" he says.

I sigh. "Dean's all ready. You be more careful, Sur." Yeah I'm letting him go play again. He's a boy. It won't matter what thing he does, he's bound to get hurt. Much as I want to wrap him in bubble wrap I can't.

"Dean will, Daddy."

He takes a running start back into the living room, probably to get Tigger where he was dropped and Pala follows her boy.

~GUW~

I decide to drive us over to the Winchester's condo rather than have someone drive us, though now I'm wishing I had. Dean's in a bad mood. Apparently he and Tigger were being Pirates when Daddy decided it was time to put shoes on and drive over to Gramma and Grampa's. He was doubly disappointed when he found out Gramma and Grampa weren't actually going to be there, he must have misunderstood me. He's already a bit tetchy, which usually happens before his papa goes away, so he did not take the news well.

"Why's we have to go there, Daddy? Dean don't like goin' there," he says from the backseat.

He actually does like going there. He's just being a fusspot. "I thought you liked Gramma and Grampa's house?"

"Don't."

It's hard not to laugh when he's like this; even when he's being difficult he's still the cutest thing on the Earth. "What's Tigger doing?"

"Tigger's mad, Daddy."

I should've seen that one coming. "Tigger doesn't want to go either?"

"Nu-uh."

"Well tell him I'm sorry; we won't be long."

"Is long now."

"You'll live."

"Where's Dean's soother, Daddy?"

"Remember you said it hurt your face?" We unfortunately had to ditch his soother for the day. Even with the dose of ice I ended up giving him, it's still all bruised and swollen, the soother presses into it and hurts him he says.

"I forgot. When it's gonna be better?"

"Probably in a day or two, but we can try your soother tomorrow."

"Okay, Daddy."

The car ride does end up being long with Dean complaining the whole way, but we finally make it to the condo and I wrangle him and Tigger inside. Of course as soon as we're inside, he's excited to run straight to his bedroom they've got set up for him here, for when he has sleepovers. I hear a big crash as he dumps out all his Lego. "Dean. We're not staying long," I tell him again. I don't get any answer. "We have to do the garden today."

Rats. Now he's going to be pissed when I tell him to clean that up. I head into Claire and Clyde's room and I find the dress she wanted right away. I put it by the door and see if I can collect my little one. "Dean?

In the short three minutes it took for me to retrieve Claire's dress, he's managed to get Lego over every inch of his bedroom. Like every inch. This is why I sometimes hate Lego. I mean, yes it's fun if you're a kid, but when you're a parent and step on that random piece that was impossible to find because it's so darn small, or you're constantly having to clean up said small pieces because your three-year-old trails them everywhere…

"Lordy Bee, Dean Daniel. What have you done? Daddy said we aren't staying. Start picking them up now, Mister." I get onto my hands to help him, but Dean doesn't like the fact I've just scolded him. He doesn't like either Cas or me to be put out with him. Sometimes he responds with obedience and sometimes with his own personal brand of Dean Winchester lippiness. I think I know which one it's going to be today.

"Didn't do it Daddy. It, it, it was the pirates."

"We're still playing pirates, are we? That's fine, but we're cleaning this up. Come help Daddy, please."

"Nope." He then proceeds to start walking through all the Legos, sort of kicking them, with Tigger firmly clutched in his hand.

"If Daddy has to do this by himself, Dean can spend some time sitting on the naughty step when we get home."

"Dean doesn't like you no more." He stomps out of the room with Tigger.

I know he doesn't mean it. He's three, he's still learning how to express his emotions, and c'mon, we're arguing about picking up Legos, but when your cute little guy tells you he doesn't like you, it hurts.

I pick up the Legos as fast as I can, only slightly concerned at what my surly boy is up to; there's not too much real trouble he can get up to in the condo, meaning things where he can hurt himself terribly—there is plenty of mischief he can get up to.

I try to get every piece. The Winchester's (read Clyde) will be pissed if either one of them steps on an errant Lego. They also like Dean to keep his room immaculate. I wish I could remind them he's three.

When I finally do head out to find Dean, he's sitting, quietly on the couch squeezing Tigger with tears leaking from his eyes. I sit next to him and he clambers into my lap. "What's with all these tears Dean Bean?"

"Daddy's not gonna like Dean no more." That's what he's heartbroken about? Poor thing.

"That can never, ever happen."

"But, but, but, Dean says—"

"I know what Dean said, and it wasn't very nice, and you should say you're sorry, but no matter what you say, Daddy will always like his Dean Bean."

"S-sorry, _Dad_ dy!"

"C'mere, pumpkin." I arrange him better on my lap, so he can hug my neck. "Thank-you for apologizing. I forgive you." There's not really anything to 'forgive,' since as I said, he's three. He'll probably tell me he hates me someday, but I know he'll feel better to hear me say that I forgive him. I'm only making him say sorry because I'm trying to teach him; not because I _need_ it.

"Daddy, was mad," he sniffles playing with Tigger's tail.

"Daddy wasn't pleased. When Daddy asks you to do something you do it, Sur."

He nods into my neck. "Okay. It's time to go. I think Dean could use a little snooze today, huh?"

"Not tired, Daddy."

"You're not? But _I'm tired_. I was hoping Dean would sleep in the big bed with me?"

"All see," he says and I have to try not to laugh.

"It's I'll see, baby. Can you say that?"

"I'll see."

I scoop up my baby, and Tigger and the dress and lock up the condo.

Dean's in slightly better spirits when we return home, until I tell him he needs to spend some time on the naughty step. "Over there Mister. Three minutes."

"Don't want to Daddy."

"Do you need Daddy's help?"

"No." He brings his faithful friend with him and sits on the steps of doom as instructed.

"Do you remember why you're being asked to sit there?"

"Didn't pick up the Legos."

"Good boy. Thank you."

Three minutes isn't a long time to me, but I'm sure it feels like forever to him. When I go out to 'release' him, he's my sunshine boy again, but he's a sleepy one. "C'mon sugar bug. Let's have a snooze."

He doesn't argue and just curls into me. I give him a diaper change and we go lay down on the big bed. My 'not tired' boy (according to him) falls asleep almost instantly.

~GUW~

He's standing in the dirt giggling. "What's so funny?" I say.

"Dean's beans, Daddy. Like Daddy says, Dean Bean."

He's helping me pick beans in the garden. This is our first year. I felt it was important for Dean to see where food comes from and experience growing it. I've always wanted a vegetable garden anyway and never got around to planting it. Dean was the perfect motivation. He seems to like it.

"Are those Dean's beans?" He's in a much better mood now that he's had a sleep. Tigger is with us of course.

"Yeah. Tigger and Dean's is farmers, Daddy."

"Okay. Keep picking the beans and put them in the bowl. Chef Andy will make them for us for dinner. Won't that be fun?"

"Yep."

I ruffle his hair. He's so fudging cute and I love him to pieces.

I grimace when I see Michael approach us. Not because I'm not happy he's come by, but because I don't have shoes on Dean, for starters. I wanted him to feel the ground beneath him. Yeah, call me a hippy, but I believe in that stuff. I'm not wearing shoes either. And he's going to flip when he sees the bruise on Dean's face.

"Michael!" Dean says when he sees him.

"Hello my little Duckling. Where are your shoes?"

I love the duckling thing. It's so cute. Dean really does follow him around like a duck when he's here. I know Michael's question is not really for Dean, but for me; I let Dean answer. His answers are always so much more interesting than mine.

"We is pickin' beans Michael. Don't need'em. Think it's 'cause we're farmers."

"I'm quite sure that farmers wear shoes. Boots even…" Michael trails off and I know why. Dean turned his face up to him when he spoke and with the lack of soother in his mouth (which is an alert in and of itself), Michael's noticing his bruised face. I can see the freak out happening through his body.

Michael crouches down to inspect Dean. "What the hell happened? I haven't even been away for thirty-six hours and you allow this to happen?"

"Dean falled," Dean helpfully supplies to his angel.

"Doing what? Sparing with a cactus?"

"He fell into the coffee table earlier. He's fine Michael. It looks a lot worse than it is."

He looks like he's deciding something, then resolutely puts two fingers to Dean's head. I stop him. "Michael don't."

"His face is fucking bruised." He's seriously pissed to swear in front of me. He's usually supremely respectful. I don't bother scolding him; the issue at hand is larger than the F-word.

"And if it was something serious, I'd let you no problem, but I know what happens to you when you do that. You don't have enough grace for healing; it will put you out for days; your father will be angry with you." I'm no fool. Michael's never said, but I've devised what someone like Lucifer would do to an errant son when he's angry. He's not supposed to use his grace. He's said a couple things in passing that have left me to draw these conclusions. Not to mention how much it drains him physically.

"But his face. Am I supposed to look at it for however long it takes you weakling humans to heal?"

"It will look much better in two days. You can come back then if you like."

The angel glares at me. I try not to laugh. If anything, Michael will be around more the next few days making sure nothing else happens to him in the hands of the irresponsible humans. Thankfully Dean usually doesn't cut open his face on a frequent basis. However, he is a boy and his rough play tends to leave him bruised often, but usually it's under his clothing, which Michael doesn't always see.

"All right, all right. I'm sorry he's marked up." I can't help myself and I have to distract the pissed off angel. Of the two, I'd rather him focus on the 'dirt' aspect of his upset. "Why don't you try it, Michael? Be a barefoot farmer with us."

The look of horror on his face is priceless. "No thank you Mr. Winchester."

I do feel a bit sorry for him. It's driving him insane. "Would you like to go get his shoes, Michael?"

"And stick those dirty, grimy toes into his shoes? What's the sense in that?"

I really was trying to make him feel better, but I've only succeeded in aggravating him further. It's lose-lose with everyone today; no one's in a good mood. "We're almost done out here. How about you take him inside and clean him up?"

"Daddy? Tigger is dirty too?" he checks. It's important for Tigger and him to be alike.

"He's a little dirty. How about you ask Michael to wipe him down?" I smirk. Dean believes his Tigger is real; it annoys Michael, especially when he has to placate Dean by also pretending the stuffed toy is real. I'm not trying be mean to Michael, I'm really not, it's just so adorable to watch the two. He takes extraordinary care with Dean, like it's his only real mission in life. I can't help how much I like watching.

Michael holds out his hand. "That mangy thing is always dirty. We'll put him straight in the wash."

Dean takes his hand and follows just slightly behind. He's slower than Michael, even with Michael walking slower to try and accommodate Dean's pace. But Dean's looking up at him like he always does and that's what's slowing him down more. Dean looks up at him with wide eyes, thinking Michael's the most special, most amazing thing in the world and not caring what his bare little feet trip on in the grass.

And just when I think to myself, 'I wonder why Michael hasn't picked him up yet,' (since his feet will just get dirtier according to Michael) Michael scoops Dean up and sets him on his hip without missing a step.

~GUW~

"I know your daddies love you, but some days I want to strangle them both," Michael says. I giggle.

"You think that's funny do you?"

"Yeah. It's funny, Michael."

Thankfully, he's not quite in what I call an angel induced fit of OCD, but he's almost there. Still he's satisfied with wiping my feet down over the kitchen sink with a soft cloth, a bit of soap and water. He's very thorough though. "Now, Tigger," I say when he's finished with me.

"I've noticed you're a lot more polite with everyone who isn't me. I don't even get a please? It's just 'do this Michael' and 'do that Michael' and I'm just supposed to jump at your every command?"

What crawled up his ass today? "Please, wash my friend Tigger?"

"Since you asked so nicely."

He can't stop staring at my bruised lip as he carries me to the laundry room. I don't really like when Tigger has to go in to be washed, which is why he doesn't get washed too often. It looks dark in there and Tigger's told me he feels like someone's spun him around too many times.

"Okay, toss him in."

I kiss his nose and put him in. Michael adds the washing soap. "I've put him on delicate. You've no reason to fear my little Duck."

"It's dark in there, Michael."

"Tigger's very brave."

Daddy comes in and goes up to wash his feet as Michael feeds me a snack. Sometimes I feel like I'm Michael's Pala. I know he doesn't mean for me to feel that way. But it's like I'm this thing he has to take care of when he's around and I can hear his mental checklist: Feed Dean, water Dean, clean Dean, soothe Dean, make sure Dean is content.

"Do you have to pee, sweetheart?" Daddy asks when he comes back.

"Michael takes me Daddy?"

Daddy looks to Michael; Michael scowls at him. "I think it's better if Daddy takes you, baby," Daddy says.

Michael sighs. "I will take you if you pee on your own."

"Dean does it Daddy," I say readily. I love Daddy, but Michael's here. I want to go with Michael and show him how good I've become at peeing.

"You sure Dean?"

"Dean's sure Daddy."

Daddy looks unsure, but I climb down off the bench of the kitchen table and grab Michael's hand. I drag him all the way upstairs to my bathroom.

"Needs your help Michael, please?" I'm sure to add the please since he's being such a bitch. I can take my pants off, but taking my diaper off takes a while if I do it myself and I kinda do gotta go.

He helps untape my diaper, but comments, "why is it you won't wear a pull-up again?"

"Dean doesn't like them," I say kind of pissed off. I wish everyone would stop fucking asking. I'll wear a pull up when I feel like it.

"It's I. I don't like them. Can you say that?"

" _I_ doesn't like them." I don't see what the difference is. I and Dean mean the same thing.

"Close enough."

When I'm naked from the waist down, I climb the step stool, Michael hovering close by. "Cheerios please!" Michael sprinkles some into the toilet.

"How long is that going to last?"

"What do you mean how long? That's how Dean, _I_ , pee Michael." He shakes his head.

Once the cheerios are in, I take hold of my little Dean and start peeing. "You're getting pee everywhere," Michael complains. He seems real grouchy today.

When I'm done, I have to congratulate my fucking self. "Yeah! Dean does it, Michael."

"Dean also gets pee all over the fucking floor. Gross. Stay where you are. I have to find a cloth. Second thought, maybe you could just hop into the bath."

"No. It's not bath time. Dinner comes first."

"You're full of pee."

Even as he's complaining, he pulls a diaper out of the cupboard and retrieves my shorts from the floor. "Fine, but your daddy can put this on you. I have no wish to get full of your urine. If you refuse to bathe, I won't take part." That's his way of trying to get me to cooperate. He thinks if he declines his help I'll let him give me a bath. He can't stand the thought of _me_ being full of pee, it's nothing to do with him.

"Okay. Daddy does it." I smile.

"You're an insufferable brat sometimes."

I cross my arms, my little Dean hanging out, in nothing but a shirt and the necklace he gave me and smirk. "Move, Winchester," he says.

He points to the door. He's pissed. I'll bet he'd like to spank me, but for whatever reason, he doesn't. My bruised lip must be buying me sympathy points.

I run down the hall and get down the stairs fast and to Daddy, well ahead of Michael who's taking his time. "Dean's got pee all over him Daddy and Michael's mad 'cause m'not having a bath before dinner," I say reaching for him. Daddy doesn't care if I have pee on me.

He picks me up. "Is that so?"

Michael's quiet when he joins us, handing the diaper to Daddy. "Don't mind him today Michael. He's in a funny mood because he knows Papa's leaving tomorrow."

Thanks for the reminder Daddy. I curl into his neck. "Papa's gonna be home, soon?"

"Soon. Let's get you dressed, Sugar."

"I'll go check on Tigger," Michael says needing a break from the brat.

Daddy takes me to where there's a soft carpet. "Papa will be home soon then you can cuddle him all night, okay?"

"Okay."

"And you can tell him all about how you peed by yourself. He's going to be so proud."

That makes me smile. I like when Papa's fucking proud.

Daddy gets as far as a diaper on me when we hear, "um, Mr. Winchester, I need to see you a moment alone."

"Just a minute Michael." He turns to me. "How about Dean watches a movie, for a little bit? Okay? Daddy will be right back."

~GUW~

I leave Dean on the couch with Pala. I really don't like the sound in Michael's voice, since I know he was checking on Tigger. Dean's too distracted thinking about Papa to put the two together, but I have.

The angel is pale white and staring, horrified at whatever he's looking at in the washing machine. When he sees me he just points. Oh crap. I look inside and see Tigger, or rather, what's left of him. It looks like he got caught in the spinning thing ma-bobber and he's ripped in half, his guts (the fluff) are spilled out of him and I think that's his tail on the other side of the washing machine, but I'm not sure. "Fuck."

Now Michael's eyes are wide for two reasons: He's never heard me swear I don't think. But believe me, even Mama would be saying fuck right now. Dean isn't in the best of moods, his face is bruised, he can't have his soother, he's fighting with Michael, he's served time on the naughty step and now his best friend is…oh God, I can't even think it.

"What the fuck to we do Mr. Winchester?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You usually have the answer for everything."

"Just, give me an moment to think." This is utterly horrifying. It's like Tigger was massacred. I don't understand, I've put him in this machine many times. "Did you? You put him on delicate, right?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"Okay. Okay. I'm just making sure."

"But you're right. It's all my fault. Jesus Christ. I've fucking killed Tigger." 

I don't say anything about it, but give him a dirty look for his dirty mouth. "It's not your fault. You did everything right; it was just an accident. We need to calm down and figure out what to do."

"I have an idea. We lie. I'll go get another Tigger to give to him. We don't tell Dean. He'll be none the wiser."

We might just have to do that, but I'm not sure my son won't know. He's forgotten a lot of his old life I've noticed, but some things are just…there. He doesn't even know why he does particular things, like on some nights, he'll ask me if I've salted the windows. When I ask him why I'd do that, I get different answers. Sometimes he says it's to keep the bad guys away, even if he can't seem to tell me who the 'bad guys' are. Sometimes he just shrugs. And sometimes he says he just knows he's supposed to, he learned it from 'no place.' He seems to remember about angels (I think because that's remained in his life) and I'm pretty sure there are just some things he'll never forget. He knows what a hunter is and that he was one; it's just the meaning of all that entails seems to be getting lost.

But he's kept traits that border on instinct for him. He's still a little con artist. He's good at reading people. And he seems to be able to figure out stuff that other three year olds would never figure out, just to name a few.

"Okay, that's officially our plan B."

Dal comes in the door behind us. "Hey guys just got home. Where's Dean? Whoa, what's going on? You two look serious."

Now I'm the one pointing to the washing machine and I know why Michael only pointed; it's hard to look again. Dean's made the darn thing so real, it's like we're looking a real life mutilation.

"Oh my God. Is that? Sweet Jesus. What are we going to do?"

At least Dal has already included himself in the problem solving party. "I vote replacement Tigger," Michael says.

Dal shakes his head. "Dean's going to know. Dean and him went and got tattoos one day, said something about needing to protect Tigger? He drew something strange on his paw and it never seems to come out with washing."

See? Stuff like that. He probably doesn't even really understand why he drew that on Tigger. I really need to pay closer attention to what he and Tigger get up to.

"We can just say it came out this time," Michael says.

"We can," Dal agrees. "I'm just saying he'll be suspicious, since it's never come out before."

"Is it something we can re-draw?" I ask. I'm desperate, okay?

"I'm not sure," Dally says. "Do you think there's any chance he can be sewn back together?"

"I don't know, but I know I won't be able to do it. I'll Skype call Claire and see what she thinks."

"Is there a board meeting I didn't get the memo for?" Oh thank God. Cas.

"No, Cassy."

Dal points to the washing machine. "Holy fuck," he says when he sees. "What the hell do we do?"

"Subterfuge," Michael says.

"Your mother," I say.

"Pray for divine intervention," Dal adds.

Michael sends him a half-hearted glare. Cas doesn't look to think any of our plans have any hope.

"Dal and Michael, how about you two work on distracting Dean. Sam and I will go call mother and pray—that's all the plans into one. If that doesn't work…"

If that doesn't work, we are royally screwed.

~GUW~

I'm suspicious when Michael is suddenly super fucking nice to me after my royal brat act; spying and acting are both out for him. Uncle Dal is normal, but he can be laid back during an avalanche. It means nothing. "What's goin' on you guys?"

"Going on? Nothing is going on," Michael says like there is something going on.

"Where's Daddy?"

"He's gone to make a phone call, half pint. He'll be right along."

I study them both closely.

"How about you come sit with me Duckling and tell me why you're so upset about your Papa leaving, especially when I'm coming for a sleepover?"

"You are?"

"I am."

Okay, that fucking distracts me. No matter how many times I've asked, Papa's only said yes one time. I'm too excited. "We can make a big fort? And Daddy makes us a pizza? And we play with Pala? An', an', an' we can have ice cream?"

"Yep. Whatever you want," Michael says. I'm fucking holding him to that. I notice Uncle Dal looking at him with wide eyes, his lips twitching a little like maybe he's going to laugh. I don't know what's so funny.

Daddy comes back into the living room and I see Papa's with him. "Papa!" I jump out of Michael's lap and run to him. I've still only got a diaper and a shirt on.

"Where are your pants, Kiddo? Ouch. What happened to that lip?"

"Dean falled Papa. Pala was chasin' me."

Papa looks at Daddy. He doesn't look happy; he looks back to me. "What does Papa say about running in the house?"

"It's a bad idea Dean 'Chester."

"That's right. I think we need to make that a house rule."

"I vote in favor of it," Michael says.

No one asked him. "This home is not run as a democracy," Papa says to Michael.

"Thanks for sayin' Michael can have a sleepover Papa," I say hugging his neck.

"I did?"

Michael nods at him, Uncle Dal is nodding too, Daddy looks worried. "It must have slipped my mind. Can someone remind me when this sleepover is taking place?"

"On one of the nights you're away Mr. Winchester. To _distract_ him."

Why do I feel like Michael's talking in code?

"And this was the only distraction we could come up with?"

"Yes," Michael says.

"And we, we, we, Daddy's gonna make a pizza and we'll eat it in a big fort where we're gonna sleep."

"I did not say we'd sleep in the fort."

Papa's looking between Daddy and Michael, unhappy about something, until Daddy finally speaks up. "You know Papa," Daddy says. "In light of the news, it might be for the best."

"What news?" I say.

Papa looks around like he's a bit irritated by everyone and sits down with me on the couch; I'm in his lap. "We just found out Tigger left for Texas early."

"He did?"

"Gramma and Grampa are going to pick him up at the airport. He left a few minutes ago."

The tears are already there. What the fuck? Why would he leave? "He doesn't say bye to Dean?"

"Sorry sweetheart. His plane was coming, he wanted to say bye, but he had to go."

"But he just got washed. He's all wet."

"We're sorry Dean, Bean," Daddy says. "You'll see him very soon. He wanted to help Gramma and Nana Colt set up your birthday party."

Ah. I see. That's so like him. He's always gotta be a piece of the fucking action. I smile through my tears. "He does?"

"Yep. He tried to sneak away, so he could surprise you, but we caught him running out the door."

That guy. He's always doing stuff like this. It's a bit of a dick move, since he didn't say goodbye, but he's right. I would have asked him a lot of questions and ruined the surprise. "Did he bring a suitcase?"

They all look at each other. "I don't believe he did. What would he put in it? He doesn't wear clothes," Papa says.

Oh right. Makes sense. "Where will he sleep?"

"Gramma Winchester said he could stay with her."

"Oh, good." Gramma Winchester will take good care of him.

"But for now, how about if Dean helps Papa pack his suitcase. Dean's been waiting all day for Papa to come home, haven't you sweetheart?"

"All day, Papa. You still gonna leave?"

"I've got to Kiddo, I'm sorry. It's just five days. How come it's okay Tigger goes away and not Papa?"

"Dean loves Tigger Papa, but he's not my papa. Just you are."

That makes Papa smile really big. "Okay, kiddo. Come with me."

~GUW~

"He's 'visiting' Gramma Winchester and helping plan Dean's party?" Michael says disbelieving.

"Claire took a look and she thinks she can actually fix him. She couldn't guarantee, but she said to ship him over. The story was her idea. I'm not sure what we're going to do at bedtime though, he might be less understanding when he's tired." Watching Cas scoop Tigger's remains into the shoebox was strange for me. I couldn't do it.

"We're just lucky he bought that ridiculous story at all. I'll go get him a back up Tigger just in case this ends up where I think it will: The gutter."

"Thanks Michael." He needs to do something; I get it. "So now I'm hosting a pizza slash ice-cream party in a fort?"

"I didn't know you two were going to come through with a plan, if you can call it that. I had to look at his little bruised face and imagine what it was going to be like when he viewed Tigger's innards."

"You're just lucky Cas is as big of a softy as you are with Dean."

"I'm sure I'm going to get an ear full from Papa Winchester. And I'm not a softy."

"Whatever you say."

"I still think we should do some praying, big brother. What will we do if she can't fix him?" Dal says.

I look to Michael. "Divine intervention?"

Michael gets a look in his eye I've never seen before. "Don't look at me. Divine intervention abandoned me a long time ago."

I was only trying to tease him. I know he's not a kid-kid, but he looks like one and I can't help wanting to cheer him up. "I'm sorry, Michael."

"Don't be Mr. Winchester. It took awhile, but I have a new purpose now."

~GUW~

"Dean, Dean, Dean peed like a big boy, Papa. All by my own self."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but then Dean, gots pee all over the place. Sorry Papa."

I laugh. "That's okay, Dean. You're just learning. You'll get better."

"Daddy said you'd be proud of Dean 'Chester, Papa."

Shit. I should have said that right away. Papa's still learning too. "I am! So proud. Here, can you put these in Papa's suitcase?"

I give Dean my socks and he puts them in for me, smiling like lightening. He likes to be helpful and for me to be proud of him. "You're a good boy, Dean Winchester."

"Not today. Didn't pick up my Legos at Gramma and Grampa's when Daddy said. Had to sit on, on, on the naughty step a long time. Also told Daddy, Dean doesn't like him no more."

Sam never puts him on there longer than his age. I'm a lot harsher than Sam, I'll leave him on the step until he calms down. "You're still a good boy, but you are lucky it wasn't Papa little boy. You would have gotten a spanking." Before you lamb baste me, just a very small one. One tiny swat can go a long way with a three-year-old. I do find it amusing that Dean usually tells on himself to me. I think he wants to know what I would have done. I'm already getting the feeling he thrives on my more exacting methods. I was concerned in the beginning, until I began to see Dean's responses. Dean does well with boundaries. He almost looks for them, because they assure him and make him feel safe.

"Uh-huh, Papa. It wasn't good."

"No, it wasn't. It isn't nice to tell your daddy you don't like him. He loves you."

"Yeah. Dean said sorry, Papa. Not gonna to do it again."

Right. "I'm glad to hear it."

"You won't have to spank Dean 'Chester."

"I hope not. I expect you to behave for your daddy while I'm gone."

"Dean will behave Papa," he promises me. I ruffle his hair. I'm sure he'll get up to some kind of mischief.

"Just do your best, angel." I give him more socks and he puts them in my suitcase.

~GUW~

"I want to apologize for my behavior today Mr. Winchester," Michael says. "I was acting as if I were an adult. I'm not supposed to do that. If my father got wind, he would not be pleased."

"I'm not going to tell him Michael." It's after dinner. Dean wanted Papa to give him his bath over Michael, Dal or me, which was no surprise to any of us. He'll cling to Papa for the rest of the night. "And I suppose it must be hard, since you're not a kid-kid. I really can't help seeing you as a kid though Michael. I think in this house, you are too. Mostly."

"It's okay. I think, I am a kid in some ways. It's very strange; I'm not sure how to describe it."

"You usually are a lot more respectful though."

He nods. "I shouldn't have come here today, I'm not in the best of moods, but I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"You can talk to me Michael."

"Would you still want to hear even if there's not a thing you could do about it?"

"Yes."

He sits a long time, silently deliberating before he says, "only if you promise never to tell Dean."

"I won't tell Dean."

He starts unbuttoning his shirt taking a deep breath before he removes it. There are long white scars all over his torso; front and back. Jesus. Some are still a pinky-red. "One way my father punishes me is by cutting me with his angel blade. These scars will be gone in another few days, but it, it hurts. A lot."

No kidding. "I'm not an expert, but that must take a lot of your grace's energy to heal and you were going to use your grace today on Dean," I keep my voice as even as I can; it helps that I really am scolding him. "How are you even upright? You were carrying Dean. God, Michael."

"I would have been able to heal Dean." He begins doing his shirt up. "But this is the reason for my contrary mood, it did agitate me and I am sorry."

"Jeez Michael. It's fine. Everyone has a bad day."

"Do you wish I hadn't showed you?"

Michael may not be a kid-kid, but I do tend to think of him as one and even if I hadn't before, I would now. He's vulnerable in the same way a kid might be. So yeah, I'm angry that he's the equivalent of an abused child, one I can't 'save,' but I'm glad he told me. "I wished you'd showed me sooner, Michael. It's not much, but you can talk with me."

"I'm an angel. We don't have feelings the same way you humans do. Talking will do nothing."

"You love Dean."

"That's different."

It's not, but I won't argue with the poor boy for now. "You wanted to confide in me, or you wouldn't have shown me; that counts for something."

"I was only informing you, so you would know why I was not myself today. I don't want you to tell me I can't see Dean."

As if I could stop him. "You've always liked our tea talks, no reason we can't do that for this." I say letting him remain in denial.

"I'm more partial to beer."

I feel weird about that. He looks twelve. "Would your father allow you to drink beer?"

"No, sir."

"Then no." It's not good logic, I know, but it's all the logic I've got. "Tea it is."

"If this is some ploy to get me to talk about my 'feelings'—"

"No ploy." I get up to start the water without his answer. "And you can take that shirt right back off. I'm rubbing aloe into those scars."

"That's ridiculous. My grace will heal my vessel, perfectly."

"Your vessel is still a _human_ vessel and last I checked, humans run on the energy of love whether you believe me or not. It will be good for your vessel on another level, one that an angel couldn't know anything about."

"But—"

"Take it off, Sur, and fetch the aloe in the cupboard over there."

His lips stretch into a tight line; he's trying not to smile. "Yes, ma'am."


	3. While Papa's Away the Mice Will Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So wow. That last episode of SPN was so heartbreaking! Yikes. Can't wait to see the finale. 
> 
> But enough of that. This is the last chapter before Texas. This story and WW will end up in Texas the same time...almost. I think there's two more chapters before WW ends up there. Why? Because it will be fun that way. Take my word for it.
> 
> I keep meaning to mention, both the city in California and the one in Texas our little family lives in (and are from) will be fictional. Problem, in all this time, I still haven't been able to come up with names for my fictional towns. So I'm having a contest. Winner/s receive bragging rights and the knowledge that they are awesome. If you want to play, please leave suggestions for either a Californian town, or a Texan town, or both. Again, these names must be MADE UP = NOT REAL. Try to be a little humorous ;-)
> 
> One more thing. Don't hurt yourself doing math re: any of Dean's aging stuffs. I usually hurt my brain trying to figure it out too. Just leave it to Sam and trust him. You'll enjoy the story much more that way ;-) 
> 
>  

~Day One: No Papa~

Dean is not a happy boy. Tigger couldn't get desecrated at a more inopportune time. Cas left this morning, which left me with a little boy missing his papa.

Dean and Cas have an interesting relationship. Dean's only three, but he's lived with us for about four years. He's starting to know his papa pretty well and with that what his papa will and won't let him get away with. Most of the time, Dean is good at walking that line between trouble and not-trouble, but some days he pushes Cas and in case you haven't already noticed, Cas is not the kind to be pushed. Cas succinctly lays down the law for our three-year-old and Dean's usually a mess of tears and heartbreak wanting his Papa to forgive him.

They run this cycle to its peak over and over. I can't help smiling at them. While they have to be serious with each other, I get to enjoy how sweet they are from afar.

Dean's and my relationship is different; he knows this. For instance, if his papa were here, he would never throw the fit, the several fits he has this morning. Ironically they're because of Papa.

Dean was younger when Cas resumed traveling. The first time was hell on Earth. He was utterly inconsolable, neither Dal or I could calm him down, he basically cried for two days straight—thank the lord it was a quick trip.

Since then, he's gotten better, but he's still mopey and miserable, and disagreeable. But without Tigger, he's a hundred times worse than usual. Not quite like the first time, but pretty close and Dal and I go between giving him whatever he wants, to being firm; giving him tellings off. And I know my little boy, he _needs_ that constant firmness only Papa can bring him, instead of all the back and forth that gets initiated when he's like this. I provide something else for Dean and the whole balance is thrown to all heck when Cas is gone.

Dean doesn't seem to mind when Papa's at work, so long as he knows Papa's going to come home at some point in the day. But when he _knows_ Papa's not coming home, he lets us know his displeasure.

"Come away from the door, Half-pint," Dally says. "Why don't we go start on that fort?"

"No!" Pala's there, barking at Dean, trying to knock some sense into him too.

"Dean Daniel, what have I told you about saying 'no' to your uncle like that?"

He yanks his soother out, his face is still puffy and bruised where he hit it, but he claims his soother doesn't hurt him today. "Dean doesn't care. Want to go find Papa. He needs to come home _now_! He's been gone a long time."

He's been gone for four hours. Thank _God_ Michael's coming for a sleepover in the midst of Cas's six day absence. Michael balances us out when Cas isn't here. We all know it (even if Cas won't admit it). I wish I could just hire Michael for all the days Cas leaves, but his father keeps him busy and he can't always make it over.

"You behave yourself, Sur, or you're going back to the naughty step."

He pops his soother back in, crosses his arms and pouts at me. That. That right there is why I have such a problem being stern with him when his papa's gone. All I see is a sad little boy who misses his papa _and_ without his best friend to console him, so I fold. Cas is somehow able to remain stern against Dean's cuteness most of the time. I don't know how he does it.

"You are having a nap today and that's going to be soon. You can chose to sit by the door for the rest of the morning, or build a fort with Uncle Dal. It's up to you, but either way I'll be coming to collect you in an hour."

He wipes his eyes with the palms of his hands and nods at me, but doesn't move. Okay, door it is I guess. And it's sort of like a time out. He can think there and he will. I know my boy; he'll eventually feel bad for being a monster.

Thirty minutes later, I hear the sound of little feet slap against the kitchen floor, followed by the click of paws. He's sniffling as he pulls his soother out. "Dean has some milk please, Daddy?"

I pick him up and set him on the counter. "Of course, baby boy." I grab his sippy cup from the fridge I keep ready for him. I surround him with my large body as he drinks, holding the cup with only one hand and his soother in the other. I brush his loose curls back off his forehead and plant a kiss there. "I'm sorry you miss Papa. Daddy does too you know."

He pauses drinking and pulls his mouth away from the cup. "Daddy does?"

"Yep. It makes me sad too, but I've got to be brave."

"Why you can't just ask him to stay?"

"Because sometimes when you're bigger, there are things you have to do. And if I asked him to stay that would make Papa feel bad in doing the things he has to. I don't want Papa to feel bad."

I wonder if that will play on his more sensitive side. He shakes his head. "Papa can handle it. Dean would just ask him," he advises me sagely.

So much for that. "Is it time for a little snooze, my babe?"

He nods as he sips on the cup of milk. If Dean admits he's tired, he's tired. "It's ezhausting missing Papa, Daddy."

I can't help laughing as I set him on my hip. "It must be."

"We can call him later?"

"Of course," I say as I make my way up the stairs. Pala, seeing I've got her boy all under control, goes to lie down. Dal's stepped out, seeing as he wasn't needed for the moment, but he promised to return by dinner. "You know Papa's coming back, right?"

"What if he doesn't?" he says around his soother.

"Why wouldn't he?"

Dean shrugs.

That's a hard one to figure out. Does he think 'bad guys' will get us? Or Cas? while Cas is gone? Is he thinking of his biological Dad and how he was taken in death? Or is he just being as irrational as most three year olds tend to be about this kind of stuff? I don't pursue it. That's as far as I usually go unless he offers more information. I don't want to give him ideas, or scare him.

"Do you have to pee, baby boy?"

"No, Daddy." He holds his empty milk cup out for me; I take it and set it aside.

I give him a look he doesn't notice that says 'yeah right,' because I know I'm going to be changing a wet diaper when he wakes up. He plucks his soother out. "Daddy, when's Tigger comin' back?"

"He's with Gramma Winchester, remember? He's helping her and Nana Colt with your birthday party."

"Oh yeah. Forgot for a second."

I help him take his shorts off, since he'll be more comfortable sleeping in just his diaper and t-shirt, rather than the little jean shorts I've got him in. "Do you want Daddy to sing you a song?"

"Uh-huh. Fiddle on a cornstalk."

Fudge. The one his papa sings to him of course and I never 'sing it right' according to the one Dean 'Chester. Not to mention it's kind of a lively song to be singing him to sleep with. I start singing anyway, but sing it softly, rather than the up beat, clapping version Cas does.

_"Fiddle on a cornstalk, fiddle all day. Fiddle up a tune in the old style way. One, two, three, four ready set go. Play a corn fiddle and a shoe string bow."_

I sing him as many choruses as I know, but I can tell he's displeased. Dean's starting to get little pieces of us in his personality. Right now, he's wearing his papa's exasperated look. The one where he doesn't want to express his dissatisfaction, but he feels like it's his duty. "Sorry Daddy, but it's not right. We hafta get Papa to do it."

I'm not offended in the least. In fact, I want to kiss him all over for being so sweet, but I refrain from that and from laughing. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. We'll ask Papa when we call him, okay?"

He sighs. Also like Cas does—like the whole world is on his shoulders. "Okay, Daddy."

I know I shouldn't lay with him 'till he falls asleep, but I do anyway and rub his back and card my large hand through his hair. I hum to him, until he closes his eyes. "Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more."

~GUW~

"Again, Papa!" he says.

Cas looks to me (we're skyping, I've got him on the big screen in his office) and I nod behind Dean's back telling him he'd better fudging do it. This is the third time he's had to sing Fiddle on a Cornstalk, straight through, and there are four choruses to that song. My husband looks tired, but I gotta tell you, after my exhausting day with our little one, I don't feel that bad for him. Maybe a little though; Cas works hard.

When he finishes, he puts an end to it. "Okay Dean. That's enough for tonight; we can sing it again tomorrow. Are you being a good boy for your daddy?"

"Yep!" he says. Happiest he's been all day. I roll my eyes behind him, Cas smiles.

"Good. Thank-you."

"Youse comin' home tomorrow, Papa?"

"In six sleeps, including tonight." That suddenly seems like a long time to me; it must sound ages to Dean. "And then guess where, we're going?"

"Gramma and Grampa's and Nana Colt and Granddaddy's."

"That's right. So you help your daddy pack, okay?"

"Okay, Papa. Love you."

"Love you too angel."

"Okay, Mister, can you go find your uncle Dal for me? He's waiting on you in the kitchen. You can play with him for a bit before bedtime."

"Yeah, Daddy." He stuffs his soother back in his mouth and takes off (careful not to run where Papa can see him); Pala close behind him.

When Dean leaves, Cas has a different smile for me. "Hey Baby."

"Cassy. How was your day?"

"Long. Soon as I got here, I've been in meetings."

Okay now I feel bad for the Fiddle on a Cornstalk thing. "Sorry you had to sing to him so many times. You must be exhausted."

"It's okay. I like seeing him happy. You look exhausted too. Look at your eyes. To bed early tonight, please."

"Was already planning on it. Dean was difficult today." I don't bother lying, or hiding it from Cas. It never ends well that way. I don't; however, go into details."

"I figured. I'm surprised you survived the day without Tigger."

"Me too and look, Cas I was thinking. We've already got Michael staying for one night, maybe—"

"Absolutely not. The one night is already enough to set me on edge. I felt scammed into that one as it is."

I try not to let my frustration show. "All right, Cassy."

Cas gives his exasperated sigh. "Baby, I'm tired tonight. Let's talk tomorrow, okay?"

Yeah. I shouldn't have asked him now; I know better than that, but desperate times, you know? "Sounds good, Cas. Love you."

"Love you too, Baby."

~Day Two: No Papa~

"Dean doesn't want this! Don't like stupid oatmeal Daddy. Is yucky!"

"Okay, that's enough Mr. Winchester." I pick him up, he starts screaming and fighting, but I'm a lot stronger than our boy and I'm able to get him over to the naughty step without too much trouble. I plant him down, he's glaring at me thinking I'm being really unfair, not agreeing with his sentence at all.

"You sit here and think about how you're supposed to behave at the breakfast table. And about the language you choose to use."

"Dean's not sitting here."

"Oh Dean is sitting there. If you move from that spot, Daddy will spank you, Sur."

That surprises him. I haven't spanked Dean since his episode of growing down, only Papa has. But he's succeeded in really ticking me off this morning. His breakfast isn't the only thing he's complained about; he's basically been an all around monster. It's not fair for me to keep waffling back and forth; I've got to be my version of stern, despite the adorable way his little arms are crossed, and his eyebrows are drawn down, just like Cas says mine do when I'm pissed.

He doesn't say anything to that; he also doesn't move a toe from where I've put him. I go back into the kitchen where Dal is; he witnessed the whole event; he's smiling and trying not to laugh. "He sure is a cute little devil," he says.

"Tell me about it. It's hard to stay mad at him."

"Well, if it means anything, you're doing a good job. He's pushing you. He wants to see if you'll set boundaries for him when Papa's away."

"Yeah. I know. Known it since the first time Cas left, I just don't want to scold him so often. I also know he's not normally like this, it's all derived from missing Papa and I feel sorry for him."

"I want to spoil him to death too, and I do, but we both know you can't feel sorry for him. Not unless you want a Dean monster."

I smile. "I prefer it when Cas is the 'bad guy.'"

Dally laughs his sunny laugh at me. "That doesn't sound like my militant older brother, the one who raised a mess 'a Colts. That boy's got you whooped."

"I not gonna deny it. But you're right. Of course you're right. It's good to be reminded."

I'm all set to be severe with my little boy, but when I see him crying into his knees on the step, my reserve falters. _Stern Sam. Be stern. C'mon Winchester, you can do this._

"Dean. Are you ready to behave yourself?"

He looks up and reaches for me; of course I pick him up immediately. "D-d-daddy's mad," he says with a shaky crying breath.

Okay, reserve faltering more. "Daddy was displeased baby boy. It's not nice to talk like that. What have I told you about calling things stupid?"

"It, it, it, isn't nice D-Dean 'Chester."

"It's not." I brush at his hair and kiss his forehead.

"Youse is gonna spank me?"

"Did you move from the step?"

"No Daddy."

"Then no. Thank you for listening to Daddy Dean."

"S-s-sorry, Daddy." He grabs onto my neck.

"Thank you, baby. It's all okay now." I carry him back into the kitchen where Dal's still sitting. I've just been through emotional heartbreak, but of course my little brother finds us hilarious.

"Well if ain't the drama queen of the century. C'mere Half pint." Dean goes readily to his uncle Dal, while I freshen Dean's oatmeal.

Dean's wiping his eyes. "What's, what's drama queen, Dally?"

"It's a person who gets very upset over a small thing and turns it into a big thing," Dal explains with a tickle to his belly. Dean giggles. The one nice thing about three-year-olds; their turn around time from a melt down can be relatively short, unless it's tired causing them to be surly. Also, it makes me so happy to see Dal so carefree. Dal was always a serious thing when he was little, and he can be at times, but he's far more laid back these days and he likes to joke around. When he needs to get something done though, you can rely on him to get it done.

"That sounds a lot like Michael," Dean decides.

Both Dal and I burst out laughing. I would love to see Dean call Michael a drama queen.

Dal feeds Dean hot cereal while Dean remains perched on his lap. Dean actually doesn't hate oatmeal. I know it's not his favorite breakfast, but Dean will eat just about anything and he loves when I put strawberries and a little maple syrup on top with cream, which I have done.

"Do you know what happens tomorrow Dean?"

His confused look is priceless and reminds me of myself.

"Michael's going to sleep over tomorrow."

"Oh yeah! Dean knows, Daddy, just forgotted for a second. When he's comin' tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure. Why don't we call him?"

He nods excited.

I scoop Dean up from Dal's lap and sit him on the counter handing him my iPhone after I've pressed to call Michael. I can hear everything Michael says on the other end, with the volume turned up.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester," Michael says formally.

Dean giggles. "Is Dean 'Chester Michael."

"Oh, it is, is it? How did you get hold of your daddy's phone?"

"He gave it to me to phone you. We want to ask when youse is coming over tomorrow? Can it be now?"

"I'm not coming over now. Patience is a virtue. I'll come over after dinner tomorrow."

"That's a long time, Michael," Dean whines.

"We really need to work on your version of a long time."

"Dean was cryin' 'cause didn't want to eat oatmeal then Daddy said go to the naughty step. Daddy said he'd spank for moving off the naughty step," Dean tells on himself.

"I hope he spanked you anyway. It sounds like you were being horrible."

"He didn't, Michael. So there! Dean was good!" he explains angrily. Those two. They alternate between best of friends and arguing on a by minute basis.

"I hope you'll continue to be good then. I know what you get like when your papa's away."

"He's been gone a long time, Michael."

"Didn't he leave yesterday?"

"Yeah," he says seriously. "Is a long time."

"How's your lip today, Duckling?"

"Is good. Have my soother back today. Doesn't hurt no more, Michael, just when you press on it. Like this," he says pressing on it even though Michael can't see him. "Ouch."

"Stop pressing on it."

"Dean can press if he wants!"

I decide it's time for Daddy to talk to Michael.

"Okay, Dean Bean. Say goodbye to Michael and give the phone to Daddy."

"Daddy wants to talk to you. Cya tomorrow Michael. Come soon okay?"

"Goodbye, Dean."

I take the phone from Dean and set him on the ground at the same time, he runs to his uncle Dal to collect said soother he'd taken out earlier when the whole breakfast fiasco began.

"Thanks again for coming over Michael. We need you."

"It's no problem Mr. Winchester."

We work out the logistics, like what time after dinner he can come. That way I can just make Dean a snack and delay the pizza making—Dean will want to eat pizza when Michael's here even if Michael might not eat the pizza.

I'm surprised when Dean is fairly well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, though I suppose I shouldn't be; he's talked to Michael combined with my firm Sam Colt voice, not giving into his cuteness. Dal and I make it to day three.

Day Three: No Papa

"Look what I made Papa, all on myself."

Cas's eyes are laughing at the way Dean talks, but he holds it in. Dean's showing him the picture he made with Dal yesterday. "It's very good, Dean."

Cas's approval is important to Dean. Mine is too for that matter. "Thank you Papa. It's Dean and Daddy and Dally and you!"

"Make sure you hang that on the fridge, cowboy."

"We will, Papa."

"I'll be home soon little man, just four more sleeps."

"Is okay Papa. Michael's comin' tonight. Dean's okay."

"Oh? I've suddenly become chopped liver?"

Dean looks confused at Cas's choice of expression. "Don't know Papa, but Michael can stay 'till you get back, right?"

Cas gives me a dirty look. Fudge. Because I asked him about it the other night, he thinks I put Dean up to asking him and if he does, that's bologna; he should know I'd never do something like that. "Michael gets to stay for one night, Dean."

"Why?"

Yeah. Why Papa? I want to know too. "Because Papa says so. I expect you to mind me, understood?"

Right Cas. He's three. I think he can forget sometimes that trying to get a three-year-old to obey commands is like trying to get a fish to talk. But again, my little boy is full of surprises. I can't believe it when I see his little fists ball, just like mine do when I don't like what Cas says, but I'm going to do it anyway. "Yeah, Papa."

"I believe that's a 'yes sir' little boy."

"Yes sir, Papa." Dean looks a bit chagrined that he forgot, but we're just starting to teach him such things, I rub his little shoulder reassuringly. I love when he says his little 'yes sirs' and 'yes ma'ams.' So cute.

"Can you go find Uncle Dal for me Dean Bean? He's in the living room."

"Kay. Bye Papa. Love you."

"Love you too, angel."

When he's gone I round on my husband. "Cas, if you think I told Dean to ask you—"

"Sam. I didn't think that. What I thought might have happened is it being mentioned in passing and he picked up on it."

"I didn't mention it to him at all; this time."

"Okay, Sam. I believe you. I'm sorry. I miss you Baby. Dean's right, this is a long time."

"We miss you too."

"Dean has Michael now."

"Don't be jealous Cas. All that boy's done is talk about you and what you're going to do together when you get back. You might have to take him fishing by the way."

He gives me a look that says I'm starting to convince him, but he needs a bit more. "We've had to salt the windows in our room, Dean's and Dal's, because apparently you said to. It's how you protect us, if you didn't know."

He finally cracks a real smile. "And did you know when he's focusing, like when he made that drawing, his face gets the same serious look yours does?"

"It does? I didn't think he was anything like me; I thought he was all you; his fist balling is a dead give away that you're his daddy."

That makes me feel warm all over. "He's picking up character traits from us both, Cas."

"Yeah, I guess he is. It's just hard to believe sometimes since we're not his biological parents."

"Biology is one thing, and it's important to be sure, but the nurture side of the debate isn't anything to ignore. He's definitely becoming a Winchester."

"You can't fool me Sam—that boy's got a string of Colt in him that's going to cause us a lot of trouble when he's a teenager."

I can't even deny it. "Yeah. Most likely."

"All right, I better get going."

"Okay, Cassy. And with Michael here tonight, you can phone me you know? We can have some Daddy and Papa time."

~GUW~

You know what fucking sucks? When either one of my daddies goes away. The house just doesn't feel right; something's…off. I can't put my fucking little fingers on it, but it's just not how it's supposed to go and looks like it's up to me to make things run smooth around here since they don't seem to get it. Thankfully at least Daddy knows not to go away too often. I get pretty pissed when Papa goes away, but when Daddy goes away…that's just not on.

I don't really know why, but I feel better about the whole thing as soon as Michael walks in the door. Michael always dresses up, I don't know why about that either. He wears lots of nice jackets he calls blazers and shirts that button up in the front, with black slacks. We're going to spend most of our night in a fort—he's going to be real uncomfortable. Maybe Daddy has something he can wear.

"Michael! Michael! We's makin' a pizza!" I shout as I climb down off the chair I'm standing on and run to him, he picks me up; his eyes go directly to my lip.

"I thought this was supposed to be gone by now?" he says to Daddy as he runs a thumb over it super carefully.

"It doesn't bother him anymore Michael. It should be gone in another couple days."

He's not pleased. "At least I'll be here for the evening. I can watch over you."

"Dean's fine now. Youse is bein' a drama queen, Michael." I'm proud when I can use words like adults and show off for Michael. He doesn't seem to like it and Uncle Dal and Daddy are laughing.

"Where on Earth did you learn that term?"

"Uncle Dally. It means you're makin' a big deal out of no big deal at all."

His eyebrows knit together. "I should say you smashing your face in is a very big deal. At least it is to me. May I heal him Mr. Winchester?"

"No Michael."

I don't want them bickering about that all night. They don't argue like my papa and Michael do, but they've been known to disagree a time or two.

"Come see the pizza, Michael," I say, but I only point expecting him to carry me there.

He's highly disgruntled now, but he carries me over anyway. "Cheese, tomatoes and meat on dough. I don't get it."

"When Daddy makes it, it's good. Right Daddy?"

"That's right Dean Bean. I use fresh ingredients."

"See? Is fresh Michael. That means it's good."

When the pizza is in the oven, I take Michael to the fuckawesome fort Uncle Dal helped me build. This time, Daddy let us take up a portion of the hallway and it's really amazing what Uncle Dal was able to do with some sheets, elastic bands, and pillows. We were able to create something big enough that even Daddy and Uncle Dal can fit inside. Daddy even let us take some of the tall dining room chairs from downstairs and some white Christmas lights to string up inside.

Daddy made sure to tell me that Papa never would have allowed such a thing. That's why usually the forts Uncle Dal and I build are in my room. This fort uses my room and my bed, but extends out into the hallway. That kind of made me a little bit glad Papa wasn't here, just for tonight.

"How long did this one take you?"

"A long time."

"Descriptive. I guess I should know better than to ask a three-year-old about time. Okay, how do I get into this thing?"

The entrance is wide and tall, I show him. "You should take your jacket off Michael."

"Why?"

"You'll be too incomfatable."

"Uncomfortable, you mean. And I will take my jacket off. Not that I would get uncomfortable via my attire, but much of this blanket tent is on the floor, it will save my nice blazer getting dirty. I'm going to have to vacuum you off after tonight you know?" he says removing his jacket and moving to hang it in my closet.

I laugh. "You doesn't has to vacuum me Michael. You can't vacuum little boys."

He still looks funny getting into the fort dressed all nice, I get a better idea. "Let's put pajamas on!"

"Pajamas? I don't wear pajamas. I don't sleep often and when I do I sleep naked."

"Oh. Dean likes to be naked, we'll do that for our sleepover."

Michael laughs his real laugh. He sounds real good when he really laughs. "As much as I would like to see the look on Papa Winchester's face when we tell him we slept naked together, we can't do that Dean."

"Why not?"

"Because humans have all of these social norm type rules. I agree. Ninety percent of them are asinine and make no sense, but they cling to them like security blankets."

"What's assi…assnin…that thing you said?"

"Asinine. It means, foolish, idiotic, stupid."

"Daddy doesn't like the word stupid."

"I'm quite certain he doesn't like the word 'fuck' either, but you still say that a lot."

"Only when he's not around."

"But that's why we can't sleep naked together. Humans think anytime two humans are naked together it suddenly means something bad is going to happen."

"That is stupid. Bad like what?"

"Oh no. I am not having the birds and the bees talk with you. That's your parent's job. In any case, you're safe from me."

I shrug not really sure what he means, I don't really care. "Well then let's put pajamas on."

"I don’t have any."

"We have some." I'm sure Daddy has something he can wear; Daddy always comes up with something. Or we can just send Shane to get him a pair. "And you said whatever Dean wants the other time you were here. Bemember?" I'm fucking holding him to that shit.

He's fucking pissed. "It's remember and yes I _remember_. Fine. Where are these pajamas?"

~GUW~

I was right. Daddy found some pajamas for Michael to wear. He said he still had stuff from when I was bigger from before. And it's a really good pair too! They've got batman on them. I of course told Daddy I had to wear my batman pajamas too.

Daddy, Uncle Dal and Pala decide to join us in our epic blanket fort and we all eat pizza together in our pajamas and bare feet, which is followed by ice cream. But when the food part is done, Daddy lets Michael and me play together alone for a bit. I have a good feeling I'm going to get to stay up past bedtime tonight, since it's a special night.

Uncle Dal gives us flashlights, even though we have the string of Christmas lights still turned on. "How long we get to stay up Daddy?" I ask.

"Tell you what Dean Bean. Tonight is probably going to be the only time in a long you get to have a sleepover with Michael, so Daddy's willing to let you stay up as long as you want."

"Wow!" I say. That never happens. I was right; tonight is special. "Papa would say no." I'm a little worried about that. I don't want Daddy to get into trouble.

"You let Daddy worry about Papa and have a fun Sugar," he says with a little wink.

"This is going to be the best night ever," I say to Michael when Daddy leaves.

"How much you want to bet you don't last 'till ten o'clock?" Michael says. Stupid Michael.

"Will so. Let's stay up 'till midnight." I've always wanted to stay up 'till midnight. "Wait. Midnight's later than ten, right?"

"Midnight is later than ten o'clock, yes. I'd like to see you try to stay up 'till midnight and will you take that infernal thing out of your mouth? I don't appreciate having to translate every word you say."

"Fine." I take it out, but lay against Pala at the same time. She greets me by licking my face, but when she sees my soother (she's always trying to get them from me) she starts licking it.

"Ew! That's disgusting. You're not putting that back in your mouth little Duck. Give it here." He holds out his hand.

"No! It's mine!"

"Now, Dean."

Michael's not to be fucked with when he uses that voice and I don't want him to decide I'm being too much of a brat to hang out with and to go home—he's done it before. I pout, but I give him my soother.

"You hasta get me another one."

"I will, later. Eh-yuck. It's full of slobber."

I snuggle into Pala. I don't care. I don't mind her slobber.

"It's on your hand and your face too. Don't expect to come near me like that."

"Won't then." I cross my arms. He's always such a jerk about dirt and stuff.

"So what do we do now? We've eaten pizza, which was not what everyone cracked it up to be, we're in _pajamas_ , holed up in this blanket monstrosity…what now?"

I can't fucking help it. Tears start to run down my face. I try to rub them away, but they keep fucking coming 'till my nose stuffs up and I'm sniffling. "If you don't like it, go away. I wish Tigger was here. Miss him—we like all the same stuff."

"Was that an 'I' you just used?"

Now he's making fun of the way I talk. "Shut up. Don't like you no more."

He lets out a huff. "C'mere, my little Duck. I've been insensitive. Can you forgive me?"

I dive into his arms and sniffle against his batman pajamas. "I've never been in a fort before. I don't know what to do. Will you show me?"

"Oh," I sniffle. "Why didn't you just say?"

"Hmmm…I didn't want my inexperience to ruin your evening."

"You're silly, Michael. We can do losta things in here. How about we tell ghost stories?"

"No. Absolutely not. I heard about the last time you and your aunts and uncles told ghost stories."

"Dean, Dean, Dean was little then. M'bigger now."

"You're not that much bigger."

"Tigger tells me ghost stories."

"Tigger is a stuffed toy."

"Is, is not. He's my friend."

"All right. You tell me a ghost story Tigger told you."

"Okay. But they's really scary, Michael. You might have a bad dream."

"Somehow, I think I'll manage."

"So there's this guy and he isn't nice. He's got black eyes and wears a suit and he talks funny—"

"Tigger told you this story?" he asks like he doesn't fucking believe me.

"Well kinda. Some parts. But Dean hasta help Tigger later in the story—youse is ruining it Michael. Let me tell the story."

"Carry on."

"He came to see Tigger one day. Tigger knew he was a real bad guy, but the guy kept bothering him. Dean noticed that Tigger started doin' all kinds of strange things. Stuff he wouldn't normally do."

"Like what?"

"One day, he put all the toilet paper in the toilet and flushed it. The toilet got all clogged and Daddy was real mad at Dean, but it wasn't me."

He looks more skeptical. "Anything else?"

"He took all the broccoli from my plate and fed it to Pala."

"Possessed Tigger sounds devious."

"What's possessed?"

"Isn't he…never mind. Carry on."

"Dean was sick of getting into trouble, he tried to talk to Tigger about it, but when Tigger didn't care, I's knew it wasn't really Tigger."

"Who was it?"

"It was the bad guy. He was inside Tigger, but Dean knew how to help him."

"Exorcism?'

"What's exorscissors?"

"Never mind."

"Dean said words over Tigger and black smoke swirled out of him. When Tigger was his self again, he told me about the guy with black eyes. I bemembered, _remembered_ that you said my necklace would protect me from bad people."

"Yes. That's right. Angels—the bad ones and do you know who else?"

"The people with the black eyes…" But that's it, nothing else comes to mind and I'm not even sure where that came from—it seems to come from nowhere in particular when it does come.

Michael nods. "A black eyed guy got inside Tigger?"

"Yeah. But Dean got him out. Then, because Tigger doesn't have a necklace like mine, we went and got him a tattoo. Now he can't get in."

"Did _he_ have a name?"

I try to remember. I don't think Tigger mentioned. I shrug. "Not sure."

"Doesn't any of this scare you?"

"No. Is just a story Michael. Tigger was just goofing around; he's always doing that kindsa stuff," I giggle. 

"But you said you saw Tigger doing 'things unlike himself.' If it's just a story, how could you see that?"

"Is just a story!" I say loudly, 'cause he's not fucking getting it.

"Yeah. A story that makes absolutely no sense."

"Told you, you'd be scared." That's probably why he's being mean about my story. It's a good fucking story.

"I'm not scared, just disturbed." He pauses thinking. He doesn't look so good; I think I really scared him, he's just not going to admit it. Finally he says, "I have a story. Mine is terrifying though. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

I roll my eyes. "Dean's tough."

"Once upon a time there was a little boy named Dean Winchester."

I laugh. "Hey! That's me."

"How astute. Anyway, Dean Winchester had a friend who also happened to be an angel and even though the angel didn't have all his powers, he was still a force to be reckoned with—especially if anyone should think to harm his little duckling."

I laugh some more. "Bet the angel is you."

"Listen up. I'm just getting to the good part—the terrifying part."

"Okay, okay."

"One day, Dean thought he and his pal Tigger would go looking for 'black-eyed guys.' Michael was not happy."

"See? Told you it was you."

"Be quiet. Anyway, Michael tracked down the foolish twosome and do you know what he did to both of them?"

I have no fucking clue. "Helped them?"

"No. He spanked them both right in front of the other. Because listen here Dean Winchester, I sincerely hope that was a made up story and if I find out you went to look for bad guys, I will be displeased and I will spank your bare bottom."

Okay. That does fucking scare me. I don't like spankings, or having Michael angry with me. Why would I go looking for bad guys? I'm three. I can't even go outside without an adult. "M'not, Michael. Is just a story," I say completely indignant and embarrassed that he would say something like that.

"It had better be. Do you understand me?"

"Uh-huh," I say looking at the ground.

"Okay. Enough of that. What else does one do in a fort?"

~GUW~

I kept checking on them and beyond my belief, and Michael's, Dean lasted until eleven thirty. When I came in to change his diaper, they were pirates and when I came to bring Dean a snack and a new soother (since Michael insisted the other one had been 'poisoned' with dog slobber), they were lost boys and finally when I came for a final diaper change and to bring him some milk and brush his teeth they were superheroes.

But now, Dean's snuggled with his back into Michael's torso fast asleep and I think…I think Michael's actually asleep too. My son must have tired him out. The angel's probably still weak from his bout with his father's angel blade; my three-year-old must have finished him off. Imagine if I had let Michael heal his lip.

Dean's sucking on his soother, even in sleep, his loose curls fall into his eyes. I crouch down beside them, Pala hears me and cocks her head, but the angel doesn't even stir. That's what makes me suspicious. I've still got the Christmas lights to help me see inside the dark room I take a closer look at Dean's lip and yep, the bruising is completely gone. Fudging angels doing whatever they want. I shake my head. I'm having a talk with that boy.

Michael looks an odd mix of young boy and other worldly creature. With the way the lighting hits him, I can imagine a dark wing, wrapping around Dean, protecting him from all. Instead, it's just his arm secured firmly about Dean's small torso, Dean's got his hand holding tight to Michael's fingers. It's like they're both protecting the other, each in his own way. But then I take in that they're both wearing batman pajamas and sleeping on large pillows on the floor of a massive blanket fort and they just be come two little boys again. Like Michael's the big brother, shielding his little brother from anything that might try to harm him in the night.

Whatever the case may be, I can't bring myself to move them. So I won't. And if you don't tell Cas, then neither will I.

~GUW~

In the morning, my sleepy little boy comes plodding into the kitchen rubbing his eyes, followed by Michael who's not looking so good. Michael slumps in the kitchen table's bench seat and buries his head in his arms groaning. I slam a mug of tea down in front of him; he peaks out from his arms; Dean jumps a little, but then he giggles. Dal, who's sitting at the opposite end smiles around his mug of coffee.

"Drink that and then you're going to eat some pancakes. You fool of an angel."

"Please spare me the lecture and the coddling."

"What's happened Daddy?"

"I healed you and your daddy told me not to," Michael fills him in.

"Oh good, so you know why you're in big trouble then. Look at you. Can't even lift your head."

"I'll be fine in a few days."

"I don't care. I told you not to do it and you did anyway. You disobeyed me Michael."

"My deepest, most sincere apologies."

"That's a load of hooey. You're not sorry, but you're about to be."

"Wh-what? What are you going to do?"

"You're going to go sit on the naughty step."

Have you ever seen an angel blush? Neither have I, but I'm looking at one right now and it's pretty entertaining. "I'll do no such thing."

"You will, or you can go home." He knows the deal, but we still have to go through this.

"You would stoop so low as to take me away from Dean?"

"No. You'd be taking yourself away. You're more than welcome to stay, but if you don't do as I say, you'll be asked to leave. You can resume coming over just as soon as you serve your time on the naughty step. The choice in the when of that is entirely up to you."

"But…but, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Not without your permission, or in case of extreme emergency."

"No. You won't."

"So…we're good then, sir?"

"Just as soon as you complete your punishment, we'll be all squared away."

"Oh c'mon. You can't be serious. Look, I'll beg you. Is that what you want? Please. Dean, help me out."

Dean is about to try to rescue his friend, but I put a stop to whatever cute thing he's about to say; it probably will sway me. "Don't you say a word Dean Daniel. _Now_ , Michael."

"All right. For how long?" He knows the rule on that too; he's stalling. It's a bit fun to watch.

"Youse is s'posed to be there for as long as how old you are," Dean supplies helpfully, trying to collect Daddy points.

"My age? I'm thousands of years old, I'll be on that step 'till the end of time."

"You know it's twelve minute, Michael. Get over there, _now._ "

"Yes, sir."

"But disobey me again and I will make you sit there until the end of time, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go."

Michael looks like he's in a great deal of pain as he slinks off. Idiot. Dean, Dally and I all look at each other and burst out laughing. Dean takes his soother out. "That was funny Daddy and you was scary."

"Did I scare you Dean Bean?"

"Not me. But Michael looked scared."

"Yeah Sam. I was wrong. You haven't lost your touch—you've just got a cute little bundle of kryptonite."

"Hey I know what that is. That's what can get Superman."

"Hey, listen to that Sammy."

"I heard. Did you learn another new word?"

"Oh that. Michael says it's good to say 'I' sometimes. So Dean does it. Not really sure what the difference is." It's another one of those moments for me, where I see another sign of him growing up, so I'm relived, while at the same time I'm sad because I know one day he won't be my little boy anymore.

"Does Dean 'Chester need his bum changed?"

"Please, Daddy," he says reaching for me.

Maybe I don't mind him being in diapers for just a bit longer.

~GUW~

I'm barely in the door when I hear, "Papa! Papa! You were gone a long time." Dean catapults himself into my arms. Pala skids to a halt and starts barking at us.

I kiss him all over. "It's good to be home. I missed my little boy."

"Missed you too Papa," he says squeezing my neck. I put him back down, he starts running again with his faithful Pala close by and I think about scolding him for running in the house. But what's the use? He clearly hasn't been scolded while I was gone. But then he runs smack into the hard corner of the wall and then falls back onto his bum, which is thankfully diapered, but he's crying and I'm reminded why even though the timing is inconvenient (it sucks to have to chastise your kid upon walking in the door, when you haven't seen him in six days) I have a role to contribute in this house. I pick up my crying boy.

"Dean, Dean, Dean, got hurt Papa."

"You did get hurt. You okay?" I check him over as I ask. I pull up his shirt, there's a red mark on his torso; there might be a bruise, but he'll be okay.

"Dean's okay, Papa."

I let him calm down a minute. "That's why I say, no running in the house. There's too many things to smack into. Besides, running isn't appropriate indoors. It's for outside only." And now I sound like my father.

"Okay, Papa."

"I mean it Dean. The next time Papa catches you, I'll spank you."

"Yes, sir. Papa."

"Thank-you. Where's your daddy?"

"He, he, he's baking a pie for Papa."

"For Papa, or for Dean?" I say tickling his belly as I carry him toward the kitchen.

I get a laugh out of him. "Maybe a little bit for Dean."

"That's what I thought."

"Hey Cassy!" Sam says coming from around the island to give me a kiss. "What's with all the tears, Dean Bean?"

I put our son down, who's much more careful to walk to his next destination, which looks like it's going to be the living room. "He had a run in with a wall," I say and stress the word run.

"Sorry, Cassy."

"I told him I'm going to spank him next time. Just letting you know."

"Got it Cas. It's really good to see you."

I pull him to me and kiss him harder this time since Dean's gone into the other room. Least he was in the other room. I hear his bare feet re-enter the kitchen. "Ew! You're always kissin'. How come?"

He walks over to Sam and reaches up; Sam lifts him, then sets him on the counter. "Because we love each other."

"I love Michael and don't kiss him like that."

I? "You'd best not be kissing him like that Mr. Winchester. You're too young and he's too old," I tell him. "And how do you know you love him anyway?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. Just do Papa, like Dean loves you and Daddy."

"Are you planning on marrying this boy, Dean?"

"Ew! No way! Dean 'Chester doesn't get married, Papa. That's gross."

"Good. And if you change your mind remember you're to get my permission first."

"See? Dean's right then Papa. You'll never say yes to anyone. Can I go play, please?"

Sam puts him down, he's grinning like a possum eating a sweet potato. "Go'on, Dean Bean. Remember to walk, now."

As Dean joins forces with his dog I grab my husband again, but this time I swat his ass. "Don't even say it."

He bursts laughing. "That boy knows you, Cassy."

"I told you not to say it."

"It's sweet." He kisses my lips again.

"I want to fuck you Baby. Where's Dal?"

"Upstairs."

"You think he'd watch Dean for five minutes?"

"He would, but just because a certain someone goes off to play, doesn't mean he's not going to come back every five minutes, all night long to make sure his papa's still here."

As if on cue. "Papa, you want to come make a fort with me? We had to take down the giant one we made—Daddy said you wouldn't like it, but Dean thought you would. Hey maybe once we make the new one, you could sleep there with me tonight, like Michael and me did." Then he's gone again.

" _Samuel_. Explain."

"Ah…I think you better follow him. He's waiting for you."

"Papa! You comin'?" he shouts from the living room. I follow after my son, but not without a parting look to my husband, who looks a little nervous. He should. What exactly goes on here while I'm away?


	4. Pizza and Planes and Pouty Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did this chapter take so long? 'Cause SO many rewrites. I don't know what my problem was. It's not even a complicated chapter.

"Why's we hasta go on the big plane, Daddy?" my son asks as we work on finishing packing his little suitcase.

"It would take a long time to drive to Texas, Sugar."

"That's okay, Daddy. Dean doesn't mind."

I'm sure Dean doesn't. Dean doesn't like planes. It's clear carry over from his other life. The first time was the worst, he _freaked_. He's much better, but we go through some version of this every time we fly, hence why we currently only fly once a year. Cas and I have learned some things over the years that help Dean, a little, including flying privately. I did suggest making it a road trip, but Cas brought up a good point that if we wanted to take him anywhere else, we'd have to get him over his fear of flying. Can't exactly drive to Italy. Cas was right; he has got better. He doesn't flip out anymore, well in comparison to before, but it's still not fun for the poor little guy.

"Papa does mind, noodle. We have to fly. Can you put these in your suitcase for me?"

"Okay, Daddy."

I distract him from airplane talk by getting him to 'pack' his suitcase. With his soother in one hand and his other gripped around a pair of pants that come unfolded; he places them inside. He's doing a really messy job, but he's so darn proud of himself and I can always rearrange it while he's napping. All the while, Pala is beside us, curled up, and sleeping with one eye open. "Good, boy. Should we bring Dean's underwear?"

"Don't wear unders wear, Daddy."

"I know, but you might change your mind. We'll be there a long time."

"Won't Daddy."

My son is a mule. I'll secretly pack some later when he can't see.

"Maybe Michael can come?"

We try every year to get Michael to come. He wouldn't even ask his father at first, he finally ventured to do so this year and was met with a flat no. Apparently he hasn't _earned_ it. Whatever that means.

"His daddy says he can't come. Sorry, baby boy."

"Is okay Daddy. But he's comin' today?"

"Yep. He'll be here after your nap."

"Dean's not havin' a nap. Is a big boy," he says angrily.

"Oh yes you are Mr. Winchester."

He pouts at me, and sticks his soother back in, but holds his hands out for more things. He probably thinks he'll talk me out of it later.

I take as much time up as I can, doing this with Dean. We don't have much else to do today, except for this which I save for today because I know Dean likes to help me. We leave tomorrow morning. All my errands are run and I finished packing my and Cas's things yesterday.

When I see my little guy rubbing his eyes, I know it's time for him to sleep. "Do you have to pee, Dean Bean?"

"No Daddy."

"Okay then hop on the bed, you're going to have a little snooze."

"Um, changed my mind. Maybe Dean has to pee now, Daddy."

Riiight. But I'm just glad he'll pee even if he's just stalling going to sleep. Pala notices we're about to leave and perks her head up. "It's okay, girl. We'll be right back. Stay."

I let him walk ahead of me into the bathroom we call Dean's bathroom because it's the closest to his room and now has all of his bathroom stuffs, which has come to include a box of Cheerios.

I help him out of his pants and diaper; he climbs the step stool and has fun peeing on the Cheerios. "Dean gots pee everywhere, Daddy." He does every time, but he always has to check it's still okay.

"Remember Daddy and Papa say you're just learning? It happens sometimes. You did a good, job."

"Thanks," he says happy as a clam.

I try not to hover around him as he climbs down the step stool, but I'm close by. He's pretty sturdy, but three-year-olds are inherently clumsy and seem to trip on air sometimes. He makes it down, his little Dean waving about, as he makes his way over to the sink. I've taught him about washing his hands and he seems to like that. I think it's because he knows Michael wouldn't like his hands full of pee.

Once his hands are clean and dry, I set him down and his cute little tush wiggles down the hallway back to his room where Pala's been waiting for us. I put him in a diaper, but leave his pants off. "Okay, you ready for a snooze, Dean Bean?"

"No thank-you Daddy," he says and moves to play with his super hero toys.

"I don't think so." I pick him up and he starts fussing.

"Not sleepy Daddy!"

"Lordy Be Dean, must we go through this every naptime?" I say more to myself.

"Dean's playin'," he whines as I carry him over to his bed.

"Daddy'll tell you a story." He's stopped fighting me, but he's crying. And he says he's not tired. Right.

"O-o-okay, Dah-Daddee," he says between sobs.

I get us settled on the bed, him still taking shaky little cry breaths, but I begin. "Once upon a time there was a little boy named Dean."

"Dean's me," he sniffles from behind his soother. Dean likes any story about himself.

I poke his belly. "That's right."

He giggles. "Can Michael be in the story with me, Daddy?"

"Keep listening and you'll find out. One day Dean decided to open up a pizza parlor."

"Pizza's good, Daddy."

"Dean only used the best ingredients, but there was one secret ingredient he put into all his pizzas and that's the real reason people came from far and wide to eat them."

"What is it, Daddy? The 'gredient?" he yawns and I wipe the tears from his cheek with my large index finger.

"You'll see, Sugar. It was a cloudy rainy day and a cloudy rainy boy walked into his pizza parlor."

"Bet that's Michael."

I can't help smiling at him; my little boy is so sweet. I push my fingers through his hair. "The boy walked up to the counter and Dean said: _What'll it be?_ "

"Daddy, can Dean eat a pizza in the story?"

"Keep listening, Sugar. You'll see. The boy ordered the strangest pizza Dean had ever heard of, do you know what it was?"

"Um, snake pizza!"

I laugh. "No, silly. He asked him for a pizza that would make him happy."

"But, but, but can Dean sometimes make snake pizza for people? Just for bad guys."

"Just for the bad guys. Dean looked at the cloudy, rainy boy, smiled and said: _I think I have just what you're looking for. What's your name? I'll call you when it's up_. The cloudy, rainy boy looked at him and said: _Michael_."

"I knew it, Daddy."

"Dean went in the back and made Michael a pizza, while he also ate pizza," I make sure to add. I can tell Dean approves. "He made sure to add lots of his special ingredient, then he served it up to Michael. Michael looked at the pizza and was not impressed. _This just looks like a regular pepperoni pizza to me. I'm insulted you'd serve me this crud. What do you take me for? A fool?_ Michael said," I say trying to imitate Michael's sophisticated tone.

Dean giggles. "You sound like Michael, Daddy."

"Dean kept smiling and told Michael to eat the pizza, he guaranteed happiness, or his money back." Dean yawns again. He asks fewer questions, as he gets sleepier.

"With a scowl on his face, Michael ate the pizza. It only took one bite for the cloudy, rainy boy to smile. He ate and ate and ate and by the time he finished, he realized, by golly, he does feel happy."

"Michael doesn't say by golly, Daddy," he informs me sleepily.

"My apologies Mr. Winchester. But he was happy. It may have looked like an ordinary pepperoni pizza, but it was in fact a happiness pizza. Michael had to know how Dean did it. _Is the pepperoni magic? Perhaps you're a wizard?_ Michael said. But Dean shook his head. Then Dean looked around his pizza parlor, made sure no one else was listening and said: _I really like you, so I'll tell you what my secret ingredient is on one condition_." Dean's eyes are fluttering closed then open.

"' _You've got to be my friend forever,_ Dean said. _Forever is a long time,_ Michael said back. _I think I'm going to need more._ Dean nodded because he agreed. _I'll also make you happy pizzas forever._ Michael laughed, _but when you tell me, I'll be able to make them myself._ Dean shook his head, _no you won't._ Impressed by Dean's confidence, he agreed to the terms. Finally, Dean leaned down and whispered the secret ingredient in Michael's ear…" Dean's out cold. I lay with him a few more minutes, just to make sure then I slip off the bed, adjusting his blankets so they're all cozy around him, I grab his suitcase so I can rearrange it and slip out of the room, leaving Pala in there to watch her boy.

~DM~

"Daddy says when I'm bigger I'm going to have a pizza store and sell pizzas made with love, then you'll eat it and be happy. Love's the secret 'gredient," I tell Michael.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Michael says. He's extra cloudy rainy today.

"It was a story I told him at naptime," Daddy says.

"Yeah, but when the bad guys come, they get snake pizza."

"Is that what you want to do with your life? Open a pizza store? I thought all little boys wanted to be astronauts or cowboys?"

"Pizza guy is a good job, Michael. Dean loves pizza."

"I have no problem with it. It sounds safe at least. You'll make sure to wear your oven mitts when you pull the pizzas out, won't you?"

"I'm not stupid." Shit. I didn't mean to say that in front of Daddy.

"That's the last time I want to hear you using that word. I've warned you plenty. You know where to go."

"But, but, but Michael's here, Daddy."

"I'm well aware. Go."

I storm over to the naughty step, pissed. It takes forever for Daddy to come get me. "You can come back to play with Michael now, Dean Bean."

"Wasn't nice, Daddy," I make sure to tell him.

"The word you used wasn't nice."

"We're goin' away a long time and Dean doesn't get to see him and now all Dean's playtime's gone."

"You were on the naughty step for three minutes, Dean."

"Is a long time."

"You've still got plenty of playtime, Mister."

"I do?"

Daddy laughs. "Yes. No more naughty words young man."

"Yes, Daddy."

"Okay, go play with Michael."

I walk back to the kitchen. Michael's smirking at me because I got caught. Asshole. He says bad words all the fucking time. I hope Daddy catches him. I climb up on the bench; he's sitting at the one of the ends.

"So, what're we gonna do? I won't get to see you a long time." I didn't mean for my voice to get all watery at the end, or for tears to start leaking out of my eyes.

"It's only four weeks Dean Bean," Daddy says from the other side of the kitchen.

"Come," Michael says holding his arms open.

I crawl across the bench and into his lap. He puts his arms around me. "I don't want you to cry, okay?"

"But it makes Dean sad. Why your daddy says you can't come?"

"Because I have responsibilities here, Dean, but believe me I don't want to be away from you anymore than you do me."

"Is that 'cause we're best friends?"

"It's because I can't trust you with the humans for more than a few hours without something happening to you."

"Michael," Daddy warns.

"Well how come I don't get a say in this whole Texas thing? Again."

"Because you're still not Dean's parent."

"No. Only his angel, but that's no big deal I suppose. I thought you were a religious man Mr. Winchester? You of all people should know how the whole guardian angel thing works."

Daddy sighs. "Good lord, Michael. We Skype call you the whole time."

"I can't do anything over a Skype call; it's practically useless. My grace only works if I'm touching him."

"We won't be requiring your grace Michael and I promise, we'll take good care of Dean." Daddy sounds like he can't even believe he's saying that.

Michael holds me tighter. "It's okay my little duckling."

"Dean doesn't like the big plane Michael," I tell him.

"What do you mean?"

"Is scary," I shiver a little.

"What's this? Why was I not made aware that he's afraid of airplanes? He's shaking like a leaf."

"Because we knew you'd flip out—"

"Of course I'm flipping out. Do you have any idea…no you wouldn't you're just a human. Look he's crying, now."

"He's three. He cries when I give him the wrong placemat."

I resent that. It's important to have the right placemat. I can't eat off rotten Veggie Tales placemats—I mean talking vegetables, really? Tigger and I think that's insane.

"Not like this. I think we should, call a meeting. We need to discuss this," Michael says.

That's when Uncle Dal walks into the kitchen. "What's going on?" he asks Daddy.

"Dean's upset he has to leave Michael for 'a long time,' and Michael, who would rather not trust Dean to the humans on his own for said long time just found out Dean's afraid of airplanes and is freaking out. He wants a meeting to discuss it."

"Okay, c'mere half-pint. Meeting is in session," he says plucking me up from Michael who's reluctant to let me go. "Michael, what would you like to say about it?"

"Well I…I don't want him to go either. Dean's right, it's too long."

Michael has his eyes on me the whole time; he doesn't like that Uncle Dal took me away from him. He crosses his arms, his eyebrows are drawn together darkly.

"Half-pint?"

I nod. "Dean wants to stay with Michael, Dally, and don't wanna go on the big plane. Hey maybe we can build a fort and we'll stay in it 'till everyone gets back."

"What about Nana Colt? And Gramma Winchester? They're looking mighty forward to seeing Dean," Uncle Dal says.

I think about it a minute. I don't want to let them down.

"They can all come here. Dean doesn't need to go there. Besides, the Winchester's have a condo here, which they visit frequently," Michael says.

I look over to Daddy because these sound like very good points. "They're here two, sometimes three times a year, Michael. I think you're taking timekeeping tips from Dean."

"Hey!" I'm not exactly sure what he means by that, but it doesn't sound good.

"Sorry, Sugar. It's the same thing I tell you every year, Michael. Nana Colt is far too busy helping with grandbabies, not to mention she's quite active in the community, making it difficult for her to get away. She'd hardly ever see Dean if we relied on when she could come. And even if none of that were a problem, this has been mandated by Clyde Winchester himself. It was the best Cas could negotiate without pissing him off. He wants Dean for at least two weeks, end of story."

Everybody fights over spending time with me; it's because they love me so much.

Michael's not satisfied with that answer, but it's the only answer he's going to get. Daddy sounds kind of fed up with the both of us. He was pretty quick to put me on the naughty step; I think maybe we should go play before we're both in trouble.

"And what about this airplane thing?"

"It's a perfectly normal fear for little boys," Daddy assures him.

"Dean isn't a normal little boy. Try again, Mr. Winchester."

"Fine. We think it's from his other life, but we don't know why, he can't remember."

"You don't remember why you're afraid of airplanes little duck?"

"Don't bemember, um _remember_."

"You see? He doesn't remember. All the more reason to cancel this trip."

"Okay," Daddy says. "This meeting is going nowhere and is over. I know two little boys who should go play, before they get in trouble."

That's what I thought.

"Little boy?" Michael says offended. "I've lived longer than you."

"And yet your ability to reason at the moment is strangely stunted."

Michael opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it also knowing Daddy well enough to sense when he's walking on thin ice.

"Um, Dean goes back to Michael now, Uncle Dal?"

"Okay half-pint." He kisses my forehead and sets me down.

When I get to Michael I grab his hand. "C'mon Michael. Daddy we can play outside?" We're not going to get Daddy to understand, especially when Grampa's said we have to do something; I notice they mostly do what Grampa says. But I have an idea of what we can do about it. I'll run it by Michael in private.

"It's raining sweetheart."

"Dean gots his rain boots. Is fun Daddy."

"Does Michael want to splash around in the rain?"

"Not really," he says, but then I pout at him. He's supposed to do the things I like when I'm going away. "But just this once."

Perfect.

~DM~

"We needs a plan Michael."

He stares at me incredulously and for a moment I think he's going to tell me no, but he's just worried about me enough I think I can get him to see it my way. "So that's why you wanted to get away from Daddy. But what are we doing in here? I thought this is where you got scared telling ghost stories?"

We're in the old abandoned little shack looking house with no door and a creepy little window. "That's when I was littler, Michael. Dean's big, now."

"I'll believe that when you're out of diapers. What's your big plan?"

"Let's run away."

"Are you crazy? No one would ever find my body when your papa got through with me. Where would we run to?"

"Gramma and Grampa's house."

"And how were we going to get there?"

"That was 'posed to be your part of the plan."

"I have to admit, it's a pretty good plan and I'm just about crazed enough to try it, but I say we think of something less suicidal."

"Don't gots no more ideas Michael."

Michael's eyes light up. "I have an idea. It won't change anything, understand, but it will tell them what we think about the whole thing since our voices have been succinctly shut-down."

"What's that mean?"

"In this case it meant your daddy telling us to, as you say, shut our pie-holes, or else."

"Oh. Well, what's the plan?"

~GUW~

Every year, Dean's looked forward to going to Texas right up until two realizations hit him; that he's going on the 'big plane' and he'll have to be away from Michael for more than a few days. Then I have to deal with the sad little pair who tend toward the dramatic.

Michael, who's a little less present tense than our resident three-year-old gets increasingly vexed for days. Dean doesn't understand his somber mood, but it rubs off on him and they're both nightmares to deal with. It all culminates to something. Apparently this year it's what I'm looking at right now and I should put an end to it, like I kyboshed the little Dean-Michael complainathon, but it's too fudging hilarious.

Dean and Michael have tied themselves together, like maybe they're in a three-legged race. It looks like they couldn’t find string, so they've used their socks tied to together, which leaves them both barefoot. I get it right away. They're saying they shouldn't be separated. They 'complete' each other. But I don't think they've thought this through. What if Dean's diaper gets dirty? That'll be fun.

They're sitting on the couch as close to each other as possible watching some of Dean's cartoons, Dean's cute, chubby little baby foot tied next to Michael's equally adorable foot—it's not as little as Dean's, but it's still a sweet kid's foot. They came in from the rain a little while ago; Dean was giggling his face off, so I knew they were up to something. At least he's having fun.

Michael looks a strange combination of smug and heavyhearted. I really do feel bad for Michael and I wish he could come with us, but these two can really get the other going and I have to keep a lid on their antics, which is the only reason I shut them down earlier.

Dean notices me and he looks to Michael for cues on what they're supposed to do; Michael grabs his hand. "Hello Mr. Winchester."

"Hello Michael," I say barely keeping myself from laughing.

"We is tied together, Daddy," Dean says laughing so hard he has to put his face into Michael. "With our socks!"

"I see that Dean Bean."

"You were supposed to let him say something first," Michael hisses at him.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Do you boys want a snack?"

"No thank-you Mr. Winchester."

Dean looks worried for a second. He leans over to Michael and tries to whisper in his ear, but thankfully three-year-olds aren't so good at whispering and I can hear everything he 'whispers.' "I can have a snack when we're tied up, Michael?"

Michael nods. He knows Dean has a stomach like a bottomless pit; I don't think he'd ever convince Dean to partake in a hunger strike. "Please, Daddy."

"Okay, but you have to come into the kitchen," I say slyly and walk away. I begin preparing cheese, carrots, homemade hummus and grapes for Dean, when I hear them trying to make their way into the kitchen.

"Youse is walkin' too fast, Michael."

"You're walking too slow. Here grab on."

Dean clings onto Michael's leg like a little monkey, not having to disturb their tied together ankles much and peels out a squeal when Michael swings his leg in a walking motion; Dean laughs all the way to the table. Them trying to sit is…interesting. Michael has to sit at the end of the bench and simultaneously grab Dean from under his armpits, swinging them both to face the table with a slightly bent leg, as he lifts Dean and sits Dean beside him. The maneuver itself was flawless and smooth, but now that they're sitting, it looks awkward. Dean has to sit really close due to the difference in the length of their legs.

"Not comfatable Michael."

"Comfortable," he corrects him as he looks around. I take pity and help out.

"Hang tight a sec Dean, I'll get you a stool for your legs."

"Thank-you Daddy."

I serve Dean his snack and bring them a stool so their legs can be raised and Dean can move back a bit. Dean leans into Michael as he eats. They actually move pretty well together, like a school of fish. It's just their size difference that makes it a bit difficult, but they make it work, better than I thought they would.

Michael's watching Dean like it might be the last time he sees him. He carefully helps Dean and is far more attentive than he normally is, while at the same time grouches and nags at him far more than usual. They still bicker and argue, more so actually; it's the most bizarre thing. Also, I think Michael's genuinely pissed at me, well, and Cas too. It must be hard for him to be away from Dean and he almost doesn't know what to do with himself, especially because he has no control over the situation. There's something between the two, we've know that a long time now, but we don't know what to call it. Some kind of angel-human connection.

"Dean has some milk please, Daddy?"

"You've eaten all that and there's still room for milk? Have you had his thyroid checked Mr. Winchester?"

"I doesn't have that Michael."

"A thyroid? Everyone has one."

"Not Dean. You doesn't have to check it Daddy."

"It's the least you can do in light of this whole Dean's afraid of airplanes and we're not going to tell Michael about it debacle."

"Okay, Michael. I'll get it checked."

"Dean doesn't have a, what's it called again?"

"Thyroid," Michael says.

"Thyroid. Don't have one."

"Yes you do."

"Do not!"

"Do too."

Jesus. They fight like siblings. "Does not. Daddy tell him."

"Why don't you two play a bored game? Or cards?"

"Cards!" Dean screeches.

Michael doesn't object.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah Dean, Bean?"

"You can bring us some cards, please?" he says sweetly.

"I can do that for you, sugar bug. Do you need your diaper changed, or better yet, do you need to pee?"

"No thank-you, Daddy."

I bring them the cards and Dean his sippy cup with milk. They actually play nicely for a bit, still bickering over this or that, but no major blowouts. Dally taught them both how to play 'Go Fish.' Dean's not in preschool, but we've taught him some things. He still needs a bit of help with the game. They're still like that when Andrew comes in from the market with fresh things for dinner. Pala's sitting near them. She's been following them around all day, except when they went outside.

Cas is home shortly after Andrew gets in. He says hello to everyone and notices our new set of Siamese twins. "What's with them?"

"Pretty sure that's this year's way of protesting their separation."

"I see. Where's Dal?"

"He said he was working on a song."

Cas nods and pulls me in for kiss that's a little longer than our usual hello kisses. "What's that for?"

"No reason. Just because I love you."

"Ew. You always kiss him Papa."

Cas moves over to him. "Well that's a fine way to greet Papa. I missed you all day," he says tickling his sides. Dean's giggling.

"I missed you too Papa. Look, we's tied up," he says showing Cas their legs. Michael shakes his head.

"I see that. Good afternoon, Michael."

"Same to you Mr. Winchester." Michael and Cas are painfully polite to each other while everyone can see they'd probably like to rip the other apart.

"How long you two plan on staying tied together?" Cas says.

"Forever, Papa. Dean doesn't want the big plane, or Texas. I'm staying with Michael."

"You are?"

"Yep. We's is, is, is tied together now, there's no way to undo it."

Cas ruffles his hair and walks back over to me. "What we going to do about that later?" he looks to me for an idea.

"My bet is they don't make it through a diaper change. I don't see this lasting."

But of course Dean doesn't end up needing his diaper changed and when he has to pee, they're somehow able to make it through. I didn't go with them, but Dean announced that he and Michael shot at the Cheerios _together_. I suspect that maybe Michael untied them for that.

I keep a close eye on them after dinner. I think Dean's forgotten he's leaving tomorrow, too busy playing the 'being tied up game,' but Michael hasn't. He's not angry anymore, he just stares at Dean, laughs when he supposed to and fusses over him 'till Dean's telling him to 'leave him alone Mama.' Of course Michael doesn't.

I hate when I have to break the bad news to them, but I've already let Dean stay up later than he usually does because it's his last night with Michael for four weeks and he's deteriorating. "Okay, boys. It's bedtime for Dean."

"Nooo Daddy!"

"C'mon Dean. I'll put you to bed," Michael says.

"Don't want to."

There are already tears. Michael wipes them away with his thumb. "It's time to say good-bye little duck." Michael kneels down to untie the ridiculous sock tie they've been wearing all day then Dean latches onto him like a baby koala. He stuffs the socks in his pocket.

"Say goodnight to Papa, sweetheart, I'll be up in a minute."

~GUW~

"Did you have a fun day?" Michael asks.

"Yeah we should do that again tomorrow," I say, but he gets a sad look on his face. Oh yeah. There is no tomorrow.

"I hate this Dean."

I hate it too, but if he doesn't want to runaway, there's not much else we can do, except, uh-oh. I know that look on his face.

"Aren't you supposed to have a bath before bedtime?"

Yeah, usually. But I kinda got the feeling Daddy wasn't planning on it tonight.

"I think you need one. We were outside in that filthy little shack, and the amount of pee you get on yourself is atrocious. There's no way I got it all off."

If he needs to clean something, even if that something is me, there's no way to stop him, so I just nod. "I can have bubbles?"

"Yes. Can you get yourself undressed?"

"'Course I can," I say offended. I'm getting pretty big now. While he runs the bath, I work on my shirt. Shirts are a little tricky because when you pull them over your head, you can't see anything for a second. I end up doing this weird sort of dance as I'm wrangling out of the thing and almost fall into Michael, but I get it off.

"I thought you said you could do that without killing yourself?" He looks kinda ticked. He's been in a weird mood all day, but we had a really fun time playing that new game today, so I'll forgive him. "Here, I'll help you do the rest."

While the bath water runs, he helps me out of my pants and diaper. "Go pee." Michael's not like Daddy who asks, he just tells me what to do.

I listen to him and pee. I don't even worry about having Cheerios. I feel like I shouldn't fuck with him right now. When I'm finished peeing, he doesn't even let me climb down, just picks me up. I lift my feet ready to splash him when he plunks me into the tub, but he's onto me. "Splash me and you'll get to find out what's it's like to have your wet bottom spanked."

I glare at him, but I don't splash him. "What crawled up your ass, Michael?"

He ignores me and immediately starts washing me with some baby soap and a soft washcloth. When he's finished washing my body, he washes my hair. And when he's finished all that, he begins again. He's in a bit of a trance, but he's gentle and attentive. I'm kinda fascinated with his strange ritual of cleaning, but really, I'm just fascinated with Michael in general.

The way he moves, the way his eyes go far away when he's thinking—Michael's got real pretty eyes.

I don't really know what it means when he does this, but I know he needs it, so I let him, confident he won't hurt me.

Thankfully Daddy comes in before he starts in on a fourth time. "I should have known—what number is that Michael?"

"Four, sir."

"Okay, but then Dean needs some sleep. Can you see his little eyes drooping?"

Yeah. Drooping in concern for my friend. I'm not tired Daddy. But I don't mention it just now. You're not supposed to disturb a sleepwalker and you shouldn't disturb an angel in a trance either. Least not me anyway. Daddy's experienced at stuff like this.

"Right. He needs sleep. I'm sorry, sir." See? Daddy knows just how to shake him out of it.

"It's okay Michael."

When I'm all rinsed off, Michael dries me off and Daddy helps out by putting a clean diaper and pajamas on me. "Okay, night Dean Bean. We have to be up early. You're going to be a cranky boy tomorrow aren't you?"

"Won't Daddy."

"We'll see," Daddy says then gives me a big kiss.

When he leaves I cuddle into Michael so I can see his face. "You'll be a good boy, won't you?" He seems really sad.

"Ine always a good boy."

"I'd like to exchange notes with your papa on that one."

"Dean's always good, sometimes trouble just finds me."

"Please obey me Dean. I can't handle the thought…just don't let trouble find you, okay?"

"Won't."

~GUW~

When I go back up, Dean's fast asleep and Michael is welded to him. "C'mon Michael," I whisper.

"Please, Sir. Don't…don't take him from me."

"C'mon. Let's go downstairs."

Reluctantly, he stirs. He plants a soft kiss on Dean's head and follows me, I notice his feet are still bare.

"What's this?" he says when he sees the mugs of tea.

"Sit," I say as I guide him to the bench seat by his shoulders. He's stronger and could fight me, but doesn't.

"But I'm not—"

"You don't need to be injured for us to spend time together. And you don’t need to be physically ailed to be ailed Michael. I know you're upset."

"You have no idea what it feels like when I'm away from him."

His answer surprises me, because I expected him to deny having feelings, since he usually does. "You're right, I don't," I say. "I've never been away from him for more than a few hours and I'm not an angel."

"I've never been a human, so I can't tell you if there are differences, but I imagine there are. I can tell you it feels like ripping off one of my limbs. And it doesn't get better each year, it gets worse."

"I know it doesn't mean much, but I am sorry. The invitation is always open, for any year. If you can get your father to change his mind."

"It'll never happen, but I appreciate the sentiment." Michael's quiet as he sips the rest of his tea.

"Give me a rule Michael," I suddenly say and watch the angel almost die of shock.

"What?"

"A rule. For Dean—it will make you feel better."

"But…but…you are _my_ superior. You should make rules for me."

"This is pretty much a one off, or rather, something we can do if it works when we take Dean away."

"How often are you planning on taking Dean away? I feel I should get some say."

I'm trying really hard to remember that Michael is an angel and the link he feels to Dean is something other than just caring, or love. He claims he's a guardian of sorts. As clique as it sounds, he's Dean's guardian angel. But it's not quite what you'd picture, Michael's a slave to his duty. To Dean. Protecting Dean affects every avenue of his life and when he can't do it, it's painful.

It's not a one-way street. It will limit Dean. If Michael can't control Dean, Michael can't protect Dean. It's very similar to Cas and me.

It's just so hard when he looks like he does; even the tone of his voice, despite its anachronistic cadence, sounds so young. Saying he gets a say in Dean's life seems absurd, but maybe it's not. "I have to talk to Cas about that Michael, let's deal with one thing at a time. So how bout it? A rule?"

"You're not to let any of those hooligan Colts alone with him. You, or Dallas, or Castiel with him at all times. I'd also trust Mr. and Mrs. Winchester. They're responsible."

"That's not going to happen Michael—that's not realistic. How about this? I'll keep the amount of time he's without one of your specified family members to a minimum. I'll even send you a text every night, telling you he's safe. To sweeten the deal, if anything happens to him, which it won't, I have to let you use your grace to heal him."

Michael's body takes a breath and relaxes marginally. "I like that; that…works."

"What do you want for your consequence?"

"What?"

"If I don't follow the rule? You want me to sit on the naughty step for the length of my age?" I laugh.

I can see he's considering it. "What would your husband do?"

"He'd spank me. That's an option too; I can get Cas to spank me for you."

"I feel weird about this whole thing Mr. Winchester," he says stressing the mister.

"Don't. This is all completely normal for Cas and I. It's been our normal a long time."

"Fine. The naughty step thing."

I smile. "Okay. Deal. I promise you can count on me, Michael. I will obey the rules set and agreed upon to the best of my ability." It's something I say to Cas sometimes; it makes him feel better and I'm sure Michael will too.

We finish our tea and I can tell he feels more relaxed; at least about Dean's safety—it's not what he'd like, but he's been given some modicum of control, even if it's pseudo-control.

Now, there's just the sadness of missing Dean; the icky sticky love part Michael admits to in everyway but saying it. "We're coming back you know?"

"I know," he pouts.

I stand up. "C'mere." I open my arms.

I'm treated to the best Michael scowl I've seen yet. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like? I know you know how. You've done it to Dean plenty. Get your butt over here, Sur."

Michael gets up slowly and makes his way over to me reluctantly. I pull him to me before he can change his mind and wrap him in what Dean calls my 'daddy hug.' Eventually his arms reciprocate, he tentatively puts his arms around me, there's even squeezing. "Thank-you Mr. Winchester. You're really…thanks."

~GUW~

It's early. Fudging early. But I like the feeling of this early in the morning. I've got the sliding door in the kitchen open to combine the crisp smell of the fresh air after it's rained, with the early morning feeling. I'm putting together the food Andrew prepared for us last night. There will be more food on the plane, but Andrew insisted. Besides, Dean doesn't eat much on planes, probably the only place he doesn’t eat.

We are flying via the Winchester Company's private jet. This is one of the many ways Cas and I can provide something extra special for Dean. We only fly privately to Texas, since our first time back home. The first flight, we did fly commercially and as I keep saying, it was a nightmare and we felt awful (even though it wasn't ours or Dean's fault) that we virtually ruined everyone's flight, so it's better for the whole world that we fly on our own.

Cas kindly offered to fetch our son who will be sleepy and cranky at this hour. He likes being woken up about as much as he like going to sleep in the first place. I told Cas not to bother getting him to go pee and just change his diaper.

They have perfect timing, Cas comes in with Dean curled into his neck and holding his blue baby blanket, soother in his mouth, sleep still hooding his eyes. Cas already has him dressed. "Daddy," my baby whines and reaches for me. I take him from Cas and settle him on my hip.

"Thanks Papa," I say. "You did good."

He smiles like I just called him superman.

"Too early, Daddy," our cranky boy whines.

"I know. Sorry sweetheart. You can go back to sleep in the car, okay?"

He nods and lets me sway him side to side. It's a good thing I'm so tall; his legs are getting longer. "I'm all set to go Cassy."

Sunny Dally comes into the kitchen. He and I are the two super early morning people between the four of us, Cas and Dean prefer to sleep in. "She's all packed. Hey there Half-pint."

"Sleepy, Dally." 

"You've got the whole plane ride to sleep. You want Uncle Dal to put you in the car?"

He nods into my shoulder, so I pass him over to his uncle.

Save the driver, all of our other staff is gone. Shane and crew will come by while we're gone to clean and look after things here, but we've pretty much given them the month off.

Dean passes out in his car seat immediately, but I have no illusions that he'll feel rested by the time we reach the plane. He'll be awake and cranky. Travelling sucks for kids. Dean's whole routine is going to be out the window, he'll get broken sleep, add the fact he hates planes…it's going to be a tough, long day for all of us.

Dean's a Daddy cling-on through our entire checking in process (that's thankfully not as cumbersome as it is when flying commercially, but there is still a process and security), which I end up having to leave mostly up to Cas and Dal, but when that's all done, we get coffees in the little shop near the hanger, sit and I pull out the food I've got in Dean's carry on diaper bag. "You hungry, Dean Bean?" It's a stupid question; Dean's almost always hungry. Except when he's actually on the airplane, which is why I'm feeding him now.

"Hungry Daddy."

"Okay. Can you give your soother to Papa? Or you want to hold it while Daddy feeds you?" He usually feeds himself, but he's not in the best of moods.

"Dean does it, Daddy," he says pissed off.

"Give Papa your soother then."

"Dean holds it."

"Can you give him your blanket?"

"No."

I sigh and shrug at Cas. Cas would normally jump in at this point, but we know what's coming, so we're probably going to give Dean everything he wants this morning.

I set him up with some banana, blueberries, egg, farm fresh bacon and potatoes. I pull out his sippy cup of milk. I give Cas a container with food for him, Dal and I, so he can set us up.

"Is no placemat, Daddy."

"We don't need a placemat today, baby."

"Oookay." He eats a bite of bacon. "Mmm, Daddy. Is good," Dean says smiling for the first time this morning. Least eating makes him happy.

"Good boy, sweetheart."

But when we're ready board the plane Dean's not smiling. I can tell he's trying to be brave, but he's squeezing my neck. "Where's Michael, Daddy?"

"He had to stay home with his Daddy remember?"

"Oh yeah."

We climb into the plane, Dean clinging to me.

Cas and I really try not to flaunt our richness, but I've got to say this is a pretty cool perk about having lots of money. The plane has several comfy seats lined up in pairs on one side and a bed, yeah a fudging bed on the other side. There's a set of chairs around a table and a whole bedroom in the back. There's a _nice_ , spacious, bathroom and a T.V. It's sweet like tea.

I have to put Dean into one of the seats 'till we take off and I decide on the ones around the table so we can all sit together. He screams when I try to put him down. "Nooo, Daddy!"

"I know sweetheart. It's just 'till the plane takes off." That sounds reasonable enough, but not to the three-year-old. Now he's full on crying as I have to pry him from me and when his soother falls out of his mouth, I have to make a stealth catch.

I buckle him in, all the while he's wailing, fat tears lobbing off his nose and down his cheeks. I sit beside him and pull him close to the arm of the chair. These ones don't fold up, or I'd pull him closer to me. Instead I squash his blanket in between him and the seat, put my long arm around him and coo at him 'till he does finally calm down. Some of his upset is from tiredness and as soon as the plane is off the ground, I'm going to try to get Dean to sleep on the bed.

As I quiet Dean, Cas and Dal sit in the seats opposite us. Since there's a little table in front of us, it feels like we're about to sit down for a meal. Cas looks at me helplessly; there's not much he can do. Dal's used to cranky Dean, so he waits 'till I've got him a bit calmer before he tries talking to him. When he's just sniffles and is somewhat contentedly sucking his soother, Dally strikes up some small talk.

"I heard we're having the biggest birthday party ever, for Dean, Daddy," he pretends to say to me, but it's actually for Dean.

I smile. "The biggest. All of Dean's family will be there."

Dean's interested in spite of himself. He pulls his soother out. "We gonna have cake," sniff, "Daddy?"

We don't have cake in our house very often, so it's a huge novelty for Dean. "It's going to be the biggest cake Dean's ever seen," Papa tells him, even though the question was for me.

Our little boy's eyes go wide. "How, how, how, big?"

"You ain't never seen a bigger cake. It's going to be ginormous," Dally says. He was teaching Dean that word the other day; it's the biggest you can tell Dean something is.

Dean puts his soother back in and smiles behind it.

"But that's not all," Dal adds. "It's going to be your papa and daddy's birthday too. That means we get two cakes."

Dean looks up at me to confirm this, because cake twice? That never happens. "That's right Sugar, you get to have cake twice."

He pulls his soother out again. "Ine gonna have a big piece, Daddy."

"A really big piece," Papa promises. I think Papa would go get Dean the moon right now if he asked for it.

Dean's pleased as punch. If Papa says he can have something, he knows no one else can say any different. Satisfied that's all settled, his soother goes back in his mouth and he's dreaming of cake.

Dal and Cas make themselves comfortable. The flight attendant goes through the safety information, but he doesn't make it nearly as serious sounding. In other words, he makes sure we are familiar with all points, but doesn't scare the heck out of Dean.

"We've got some cartoons coming on for you, Mr. Winchester," the flight attendant says to Dean.

He nods politely, but whispers to me. "Um, don't want cartoons, Daddy."

"It's okay Dean Bean, you don't have to watch cartoons, right now, but you might want them later."

"I want to watch cartoons," Uncle Dal says.

He actually gets a giggle from Dean. He's so good with him.

The captain comes out of the cockpit to say hello. Something not really done on commercial flights anymore, but we know our pilot and he knows Dean; he always likes to come say hi to Dean. Our co-pilot is female and she comes out too for the same reason—everyone loves our little boy. They know he's scared of flying, so they do their best to make it easy for him. When they make announcements over the intercom, they talk in a 'kid-friendly' voice without being overly patronizing, but they really work to try not to scare him further.

When they leave, it's time to take off. We hear the 'bing' and then the captain's voice again. "Good morning gentlemen and Dean."

Dean's impressed that the loud voice on the intercom knows his name. "Is me Daddy," he says from behind his soother, pointing at the ceiling.

I smile at him. "That's you baby."

"It's a beautiful day, and we're going to have a smooth flight. So hang on tight to your daddy while we get you up in the air."

Dean already has his hand on my arm, but he grips it tighter like the voice instructs. "Daddy? Who's you and, and, Dally, and Papa gonna hang onto?"

"Well I'm going to hold onto my Dean," I tell him.

"I'm gonna hold onto Papa," Dal says grabbing Cas's arm; Dean smiles.

"I'm the Papa, I'm not going to hold onto anything, and make sure you're safe cowboy."

Dean nods at him big, impressed. "And Uncle Dal? And, and Daddy?"

"Of course Uncle Dal and Daddy. Everyone."

The plane slowly reaches the runway and Dean's doing a lot better by then, but he's gripped tight to me, trying his darndest to be brave. As the plane starts to speed up, Dean squeezes his little eyes shut. This is the part that hurts his ears. I pull out the little cups the flight attendant gave us and tell Dean to put them over his ears. They don't do a lot, but I think they help a little. "Hurts, Daddy," Dean whines the whole time the plane climbs into the sky and it seems to take forever, but finally we're up and Dean can take the cups away. I get him to squeeze his nose and blow gentle, so he can pop his ears. "Thank-you, Daddy," he says. "Don't like that."

We're not in the air long, but the seatbelt signs come off, Dean's still looks uneasy and I’m about to suggest we go try having a snooze, when he says, "Da-daddy, you can sing to me, please?"

It took some figuring, but we learned that humming or singing Metallica to Dean calms him down. We have some he can listen to as well, but he prefers us to sing it to him and more specifically, Daddy. I voted against him listening to Metallica when he was growing down, so I wasn't pleased, but it's the only music he wants and the only music that works; and as I've already said, Dean gets whatever he wants when we fly.

I'd never really listened to Metallica before, making the assumption they were just some metal heads screaming nonsense into a microphone, so I had to set to work learning as many of their songs as possible. I still don't think some of their songs are three-year-old appropriate, but I've changed my mind about them; they're actually pretty good. Very talented musicians.

I start in with, "So close, no matter how far…"

Hearing what I'm doing, Dal joins in. "Couldn't be much more from the heart…"

Cas is next. "Forever, trust in who we are…"

Then we all join our voices together for the next line. "And nothing else matters."

As the plane sails along, the three of us sing our hearts out to Metallica, so our little three-year-old can feel safe. I'm sure the crew thinks we're nuts, but we don't care. When the first song's done, we go right into the Unforgiven without missing a step, we continue our Metallica concert, until finally Dean can open his eyes again, and he takes a relieved sigh.

I don't even have to convince him to come lay down with me. He's so tired, he ends up nodding off, so I unbuckle him and carry him over to the bed and lay with him, 'till we reach Texas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter of WW is written...almost, just finishing, so you'll have that soon (tomorrow?). AND I will respond to all the lovely ppl who left comments on WW today (after work). I would have been by to chat sooner, but this chapter had me tied up. I really didn't think this chapter was going to take so long to write!


	5. Dean 'Chester is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Got this done today. We are mostly caught up with WW, and this one time line wise. Let the fun begin!
> 
> One little thing: Yes, I mean to have Dean say 'I's' sometimes, while still talking in third person at others...he's still learning! (And he's still sure it's the same thing anyway, he's just practicing for Michael really.)

"B-but, I, I, I wan', want, Michael!" That's followed by a screeching wail.

It's what we've ben listening to all the way to the Winchester's. It's one thing to tell a three year old he's going on a big plane to Texas and he'll see his friend when he gets back, but it's another thing for him to comprehend. Time is pretty much meaningless to him. It probably feels like he's been gone as long as he needs to be and as long as he'd like to be from Michael.

Cas is driving like a nervous wreck. Dean's been crying since we got off the plane, the plane ride itself already being an exhausting ordeal.

Dally is in the back of the rental car with me and we're trying to soothe our cranky boy as he struggles in his car seat throwing a spectacular fit. His sleep on the plane was choppy at best. "Wan'. Out. Dah-deeee," he squeals, still crying.

Dally's tried singing to him, I've offered him juice, toys, snacks, heck, even cookies.

"Dean, sweetheart. Don't you want to see Gramma and Grampa?"

"No! Mi- _chael_!"

Finally, sudden ingenuity hits. I blame tired for not having thought of it earlier. "How about Dean calls Michael, right now? I'm sure he'll want to hear you got to Texas safely."

Instantaneous cease fire on crying; the three of us sag relieved, and I'm pretty sure we're all internally praying this will stop his crying completely.

"We can call him?"

I'm already dialing. "Yep. Just one second pumpkin." Please god let Michael answer. Please answer. Please…"hello? Michael! Thank god!"

"What the hell Winchester? Is something wrong with Dean?"

"He wants you. Won't stop crying," I say tiredly. Daddy didn’t get much sleep either. "Talk to him." I give Dean the phone.

Dean's all teary eyed, voice watery. "Is not letting Dean see you," he says in a way that makes us all feel like the biggest jerks in the world.

Thankfully, Michael's immune to Dean's pouting. "Don't be so dramatic. What are you doing?" I can hear him say since my phone's turned up loud enough.  
"We's going to see Gramma and Grampa 'Chester."

So he did hear that. I wasn't sure with all the screaming.

"Aren't you excited to see them?"

"Yeah, but, you gonna come see Dean?"

"I can't. Remember my daddy said no?"

"But, but, couldn't you tell'im youse hasta see your Dean 'Chester?" he says, getting all choked up. Break my heart.

"I did," Michael lies. "He's a meanie, poo-poo face."

I can't believe Michael just said that, Dean's little 'starting to cry' voice must affect him just as much as it does us, if he's willing to go to those kinds of lengths.

A giant giggle bursts through the car. When in doubt, you can always count on 'poo' and 'fart' talk to please a little boy. "Again, Michael. Say it again."

Michael has to go through two more rounds of that before he tells Dean enough.

"Was scared on-na big plane."

"I don't see what there is to be afraid of. Your papa's pretty scary, he'll protect you, and he should spank you—were you throwing a fit for your daddies?"

"No! Don't need spankings Michael."

"I think you do. Here let me speak with him a moment, so I can notify him."

"Youse is mean! Not talking to you no more." He thrusts the phone out toward me.

"There you go," Michael says. "He won't want to talk to me for at least a week."

"Thanks, Sugar. Our ear drums forever thank-you too."

When I get off the phone, at least Dean's not crying, but he's still in a bad mood. "Daddy? I has my soother please?"

I hand it back to him. It fell out of his mouth when he started crying. "Thank-you, Daddy."

"You want a story, sweetheart?"

He takes a shuddery breath and shakes his head, I move a curl off his face. "It takes a little while to get there, Dean Bean. You sure?" It's about two hours from the plane to Wuthering County where Cas and I grew up. It's a small town, like really small. The 'everyone knows everyone' kind of town. As different as our parents are, they both agree on small town living. At one time, both our Daddies travelled for work; they liked coming back to the slow pace of Wuthering County.

He nods, extremely displeased with his whole situation. Then he takes out his soother, with sudden inspiration. "We forgot Pala!"

If he starts crying again, I'm spilling the beans about Tigger. "Pala's with Becky and Desi for two weeks then Charlie and Harlow, remember?"

Now he's just pissed off. He shoves his soother back in clearly not liking that—took him long enough to notice. I'm just happy he's not crying.

Dally sings him a song, whether he wants one or not, it does soothe him some, but he stubbornly stays awake all the way to the Winchester's.

~GUW~

We pull up to the Winchester's large country home. The driveway pulls up in a rainbow arc to the door where we park and I immediately begin unstrapping Dean. This boy is going to have a nap pretty quick after we say hello to Gramma and Grampa, I'm sure Cas and Dal agree. I'm going to go with him, since I'm just as exhausted as he looks.

"C'mere Dean Bean. Can Daddy carry you?"

He nods sullenly. Poor little fellow. He'll be right as rain by tomorrow. Travelling with a three-year-old sucks.

Dally grabs his diaper bag and Cas grabs a few of our suitcases out of the trunk. Clyde and Claire are there, sitting on the front patio, sipping on something cool; it's flipping hot. Dean tells me, "Daddy, is too hot for Dean."

It can get hot in California, sure, but it's a different kinda hot in Texas, Dean's not used to it. "I'm going to get you cooled off, baby boy. Just give Daddy a minute." I'll undress him and he can run around in just his diaper and a shirt.

Feeling like he's not getting anything he wants, he puts his head on my shoulder and sucks his soother. He probably needs to be changed too.

"Well look, I say, look who's come a callin' Claire."

"I see that Clyde. Good afternoon Sunshine."

Unfortunately, Dean's not in the mood to greet anyone, even Gramma; he curls tighter into me. "I'm sorry. He's not a very happy boy at the moment, I think if we lie down for a bit, he'll be happier." It means he won't sleep 'till later tonight, but right now I think it's for all our benefit.

"Of course dear," Claire says.

"Do you need any help, Sam?" Cas asks.

"No I'll be all right."

"I do have a late lunch prepared for us, you sure you don't just want to lay him down and join us?" Claire says.

"I think Daddy's tired too. Our sweet little mite was a holy terror all the way here," Cas says unimpressed. I'm pretty sure he wanted to pull over and spank him a few times.

"Well, there is someone here Dean might like to take to bed with him," Claire says glancing over to the table, which is shaded with an umbrella. Sitting, in front of his own drink (which looks a lot like a Mojito) is Tigger, but he's got bandages around his head, he looks like a recovering hospital patient with a head wound. Tigger sure knows how to do recovery. Other than that, he looks good as new.

I bring Dean over to the table. "Look who it is, Dean Bean."

Dean perks up and twists in my arms so he can see. "Tigger?"

"That's right, Dollface. He was waiting and waiting for you. He's really excited to see you."

Keeping one hand secured to my shirt, so I know he doesn't want to be put down, he reaches a hand out to Tigger and scoops him up. I don't know how Claire did it, but you'd never know Tigger had an unfortunate shredding incident. Martha Stewart's got nothing on Claire Winchester. I look at her with large appreciative eyes; she smiles a 'you're welcome.'

"Gramma, what happened to Tigger?" he says suddenly a lot more animated.

"Well I'm glad you asked, I wanted to tell you," she says sitting down. Everyone follows suit, including Dean and I, I keep him on my lap. "See, we were setting up for the party and Tigger got a little wild, he was having too many Daddy drinks you see. He decided to climb up on a chair and hang some balloons, but he fell off and banged his head. We had to take him to see the doctor and the doctor bandaged him up—he also says you have to play carefully with him, okay doll?"

"Okay, Gramma." Dean's hugging Tigger tight. "Dean's missed Tigger. Look Daddy."

He shows me. "That's great Dean Bean."

"Tigger's better than stupid Michael anyway."

"Okay little boy," Cas says. "Time to come see Papa."

We're not even in the door yet and Dean's in trouble with Papa. Tired as he might be, he knows not to argue with Papa's voice when it gets like that. He's looking down at Tigger as Cas lifts him from me, Dean still curls into him and hangs on tight. "Why don't you eat something Baby? I'll sort him out."

I nod tiredly. I'll sleep later, we can all get naps in shifts today.

Cas grabs the diaper bag where Dally left it and heads into the house with one cranky Dean 'Chester.

~DM~

This is bullshit. This whole day's been bullshit. I'm not getting anything I want today and now I'm pretty sure Papa's going to spank me. He starts lecturing me on the way up to the room I use when I'm here.

"Doesn't Daddy say not to use that word?"

I take my soother out. "Yeah. But, but, but, Michael isn't nice, an', an' Dean wants to go home." I still want to see the asshole even if he is an asshole.

"I understand and while that may be so, you're still not to say that word."

When we get to 'my' bedroom, he sets me down and releases a decent tap to my diaper-clad ass, but it might as well be a full on spanking for how I react. I immediately start crying and rub my rear like it hurts, but it doesn't, just my fucking pride.

"Daddy might let you get away with murder, but Papa doesn't. You will behave yourself at Gramma and Grampa's house, Mr. Winchester, or Papa won't hesitate to spank you right in front of Gramma and Grampa. Do you hear me?" he says setting up the diaper change things on the bed.

"Uh-huh," I say sniffling. "I, I, I…Dean's sorry, Pa-papa."

"It's okay. Lie down on the bed please."

I do protecting my ass from more spankings, dragging Tigger with me; soon as I'm in place, he begins taking my shorts off. "Is-isn't a good day for Dean 'Chester, Papa," I tell him.

"I think it will be a fine day after a little sleep."

I nod. I don't want to sleep, but no way am I arguing with Papa. "But Dean isn't havin' a nice day now."

"You think you can tell Papa about it, without using words, Daddy doesn't like?"

"Dean can, Papa."

"Okay," he says as he untapes my diaper.

"First we got up too early."

"Agreed," Papa say, removing my diaper and grabbing a wipe.

"Then we were onna big plane. Dean doesn't like it. Was scary."

"But we sang you songs, Angel. Didn't that help?"

"A little, but still isn't good, Papa."

"Okay. I'm sorry you didn't like it," Papa says in his soft Papa voice.

"Then Michael doesn't want to see Dean."

"Remember why? His daddy said no."

"Dean doesn't like his daddy to say no."

"Sometimes daddies say no. What about when Papa says, no way Dean Winchester?"

"Dean doesn't do it, " I sigh.

Papa puts a new diaper on me; I carry on with my tale of woe. "Then, then, Papa gets mad at his Dean 'Chester," I tell him staring to cry again.

Papa picks me up, leaving the shorts off. It's fucking hot and I'm grateful for that. I curl into him even though I'm sweating. He sighs heavily. "You need a good spanking my boy, but I'm not mad at you. I hope one day you'll understand the difference. For now, let's have a little snooze, okay?"

I have no fucking idea what he means by that, but I think I am tired now and I'm just glad he's not mad. All this talking tuckered me out. "Youse is gonna stay please, Papa?"

He kisses my head. "Yes. Papa could use a snooze too."

~GUW~

When I wake up, I'm looking at a soft black nose and I remember: Tigger's back! And there he was, sitting there in the sun, drinking Daddy drinks with Gramma and Grampa—fucking figures.

I slowly remember what a dick I was when I got here, I didn't say a proper hello to Gramma, I didn't even fucking say hello to Grampa. I hope they're not pissed at me.

I was snuggled up to Papa when I fell asleep, but now it's someone else. "Daddy?"

"Mmph…Dean Bean?" he says sleepily.

"I'm awake, Daddy."

"I see that, sweetheart." 

"Daddy?"

"Yes?" he says trying to blink his eyes open, but he can't really. "I can go find Papa?"

"Yeah. Go ahead baby boy."

Daddy must be half asleep to say yes to that, but I'll take it. I think I exhausted him.

I climb off the bed bringing Tigger. Gramma and Grampa have a pretty big house and it's been a whole year since I've been here, but I can hear laughing and singing, so I follow that.

They're still outside and Uncle Dal's pulled his guitar out of the car—even Grampa Winchester likes music, everybody does in our families.

Papa sees me, I'm still rubbing my eyes. "Hey there, Kiddo. You lost? Where's your daddy?"

He comes over to scoop me up. "Dean made him ezhausted; still sleeping. He said I could come find you."

"He did? That doesn't sound like Daddy. He must be 'ezhausted.' Why don't you say a proper hello to your Grandparents?" He lets me down with a kiss to my crown and a pat to my bottom (which is wet again) and I run to Gramma.

Gramma's smiling at me; she picks me up. "Hi, Gramma. Sorry Dean was a grouch earlier."

She laughs. "You were tired is all. Did you have a nice nap?"

I nod.

"Nonsense, Dean. It's as I always say, everyone's entitled to a bad day once in a while," Grampa says.

"You always say that Clyde?" Gramma says. 

"I do now. Howdy little Cowboy," Grampa says.

"Howdy Grampa. Michael can't come over," I tell him hoping he can do something about it. Grampa's like that. If I have a problem, he tries to solve it for me.

"Michael? Who is this Michael fellow?"

"Clyde, you know who Michael is," Gramma chastises. "Dean's big friend. You've met him plenty."

"Hush, Claire. Dean's going to tell me." Grampa waits for me to talk like I'm super important.

"Yep. Is my big friend, Grampa. Michael's papa says 'no Michael, you can't come with Dean' and when Papa's say no, you can't do it," I explain and come to a realization—fuck I'm smart! I used to always call Michael's papa his daddy, but he's really more of a Papa. Now it makes more sense. Papa's say no a lot, but you have to listen to them because they're the Papa.

Grampa nods sagely. "That's right Cowboy. Sounds like this is a law that's even above Grampa, but let me be the first to say it's not right. " He shakes his head. "I say, it's just not right." He repeats and ruffles my hair.

"How about Gramma gets you some milk Doll? You must be hungry. It's almost supper."

"That would be great, Mother," Papa says. "I'd better change him."

Gramma passes me off to him, Uncle Dally stands up putting his guitar down. "Actually, brother Cas, my ride's going to be here soon, could I have a little time with him before I go? I bet his dance card's goin' to be too full for Uncle Dal, ain't that right Half-pint?" he says taking me from Papa.

"Is not too full, Dally. Dean's not even dancing." They laugh at me, but I don't know why—they always think I'm fucking hilarious.

We run into Daddy in the hallway on the way back to my bedroom. "Praise the lord and hallelujah, I thought I lost my Dean Bean," Daddy says. He looks a bit frazzled.

"Is not lost Daddy, is right here."

"I'm going to change his diaper," Uncle Dal tells him, Daddy kisses my forehead and carries on.

Uncle Dal lays me down on the bed. "I know you miss Michael, Half-pint, but you know we're gonna call him lots, don't ya?"

"Yeah."

"And aren't you excited to see Tigger?"

I take my soother out. "Yeah Uncle Dally, but, but, but…" I don't have anything to follow that but. I don't know how to explain it to anyone. When Michael's not with me, it feels like there's a big hole inside me. And I just know Michael's got to be sad, I show him how to have fun—he's probably having hardly any fun.

"It's not the same is it?" he says. "I'm sorry Dean. I think I get it, least conceptually."

That's a big word and sounds like something Michael would use, I want to know it so I can use it on him. "What's that?"

"Conceptually? Means I think I understand you cowboy, but I've never lived through it. After all, I certainly don’t have any angels devoting themselves to me."

When I'm all changed, Uncle Dal takes me out of my t-shirt. "How about just a tank top half-pint?"

He helps me into a tank top, it's better, but not by much. It's still fucking hot.

When we head out, Auntie Caroline (Dally's ride) is there, chatting with Daddy. "Well hello there sparkle boy," she says. No one's let me live down the time I got covered in sparkles; though there could be another sparkle occasion she's holding against me if Daddy's a fucking rat. I am glad I opted for Uncle Dal to carry me, 'cause Auntie Caroline is real pretty and I get all shy and have to hide into Uncle Dally's shoulder.

"Aww, ain't he sweet Sammy. I can't wait to have a dance with you."

What's with all the fucking dancing?

Gramma makes what sounds like the third attempt for Dally and Caroline to stay for dinner. "We sure would love to ma'am, but Mama would box our ears. She's waitin' on me for dinner." Uncle Dal's got a way about him, he's so sincerely charming that even when he's telling you no, you don't mind. But now, it occurs to me that Uncle Dal's leaving me too. I start to tear up.

"My Dally is leaving his Dean 'Chester too?" Everyone's fucking leaving, I'm tired of this bullshit.

"My word, Sammy," Caroline says. "How do y'all survive all that sweetness?"

"I don't," Daddy says. "That's why I keep Cas around." Daddy smiles over at Papa who's of course smiling back.

"Aww, half-pint. I'll be back. And when you come to Nana and Granddaddy Colt's, we'll teach all your cousins some songs."

I nod into the light hair that falls to his shoulder. It's just slightly longer than Daddy's. "Don't forget about me," I sniffle.

Uncle Dal laughs. "I couldn’t if I tried. Besides it will give you time to get reacquainted with your Tigger. Bet he's got some stories for you."

The whole seeing Tigger again thing's not been as big a deal as I thought it would be with everyone leaving me every time I turn around. I hadn't even asked about him. Gramma had to remind me.

He hands me off to Daddy who at least looks sympathetic. We all say goodbye to Dal and Caroline and I replace my soother and pout into Daddy's shoulder. I try my plea on Daddy. "Isn't a nice day for Dean 'Chester Daddy."

"Yeah? How come?"

"Now Uncle Dal's gone too."

Daddy shifts my hair away from my face. "I know, Sugar. I miss him already too."

"Here Doll, this milk's been waitin' on you. Would you like to come have a drink with Gramma?"

That sounds nice. "Thank-you Gramma." Sometimes gramma's can make you feel better just by being around them. I sit on her lap with Tigger; I have to set my soother on the table so I can take the sippy cup of milk.

"There. He's okay now," Grampa declares like he knew I would be all along. "Gramma always knows just what to do."

Grampa always talks about Gramma like the sun shines out of her ass. He's supposedly 'in charge' like Papa, but the things he does for Gramma, you'd think it was the other way around.

I can tell Gramma's smiling at him from above me, since Grampa always sits a bit taller when Gramma smiles at him; she thinks the sun shines out of his ass too. They all leave me alone and chat about boring adult things while I drink my milk.

GUW

Dean's still not quite himself even after his nap. I expected as much and that it would take until at least tomorrow—Dean doesn't like his schedule disrupted; he does not like to be away from Michael. I can see he's trying hard to be a good boy for his papa who's keeping a close eye on him, but it's difficult today. He'd normally be playing, content with one of his toys Gramma and Grampa have here just for him, but instead he's quiet, laying against his Gramma as she plays with his soft hair. His milk is all finished, so his soother went back in his mouth; he's hugging Tigger close. Tigger wasn't the hit we all thought he'd be—as much as he loves the stuffy, ol' Tigger doesn't compare to being without Michael, or Uncle Dal. Just like it didn't compare to his papa leaving.

In fact, he's been looking at us both. I think he's wondering if we're going to leave to go somewhere too. Sometimes we do when we're here, since there's so many people we trust, able to look after him, but now would not be a good time for Cas and I to do any visiting. Cas might be able to get away with it, but there's no way Dean's letting Daddy go anywhere.

"Wait until you see your birthday party. Best party this county's ever seen," Clyde says. "Definitely better than your last birthday."

They still haven't forgiven us for missing his first birthday, which was his turning two birthday party.

"Thank-you, Grampa," my polite little boy says.

"Such a polite boy. He's definitely a Winchester," Clyde says as if it was all his doing. It doesn't bother me, I'm just happy they're not already all over me for the diapers and the soother Dean's still sporting. I don't think he'd overlook it for anybody else, he's got a real soft spot for Dean.

"And wait 'till you see all the presents! Why just from Gramma and Grampa alone would take up half the toy store."

I mentally shake my head and roll my eyes. The amount of stuff I end up having to donate…between everyone, Dean is spoiled rotten. Cas and I barely get the chance to buy him anything, but I don't mind having that problem, since it sounds like Dean didn't have much in his first life. I let everyone spoil him rotten then he and I get to have a donating day once a year where we give away the things he's not using anymore. He doesn't really participate too much yet, except to of course suddenly find the toys he hasn't touched in months interesting again and keep pulling stuff out of boxes as I add them, saying, "Daddy, Dean keeps this, okay?"

Dean's very interested in the word present. "Presents?"

"Yep, how about we give Dean one now, Gramma?" he says to his wife.

"Clyde Winchester, we're about to eat supper."

"I thought Christian was stopping by. Aren't we waitin' on him anyway?"

But it's game over now. Dean spins around to face his Gramma. "Dean has a present now, Gramma?"

No one can say no to little Mister Kryptonite. "Okay, sweetheart. Grampa will get you a present while Gramma puts dinner on the table."

Dean gets down from Gramma and runs to Grampa who scoops him up. "Daddy, youse is comin' too?"

See? Didn’t I tell you he's keeping a close eye out, apparently it's specifically for me. "Of course Pumpkin."

"I'd better come too," Cas says. "Do you mind Mother?"

"Not at all. That's why we have staff dear, I just manage them all," she winks. "Dean will show me his present later."

Clyde leads us outside. "Remember Grampa said he'd buy you a car? Well there it is."

He sets Dean down and lets him run to a mini black car with a big red bow on it. "He can really drive it and everything."

Wait a minute. That car looks suspiciously like…

"It's Dean's car Daddy!" Dean says.

Yep, it is. It's a freaking electric Impala. As Dean checks it out talking excitedly to Tigger, Clyde gives a bit of the story on it. "When Claire and I saw they made kid Lamborghini's, we thought, can't be too hard for them to make us an Impala. We had this specially made."

Holy Mother…"But sir, while this is real nice and all, I looked into these cars, they're usually for ages five and up," I chance to say.

"Nonsense. Didn't you hear me boy? I believe I said we had this specially made for him, sent them his measurements and everything. He'll be able to reach the pedals easily."

"That's fantastic Father, but I believe what Sam's alluding too are his developmental delays."

"More nonsense. If that boy's delayed then I'm a rooster."

"He's only just learned to talk Father."

"Sure. Maybe he's had difficulties for _his_ regular capacities, but that boy's still gifted beyond normal three year olds, I know it. Besides, the neighbor's son and his wife had a boy and he's approaching three and he still can't talk as good as Dean. Y'all are holding him back and I won't stand for it. You just let him try the car."

Winchester Senior has spoken—who clearly thinks the sun shines out of Dean's butt (as Dean would say). Besides, even if we were going to disagree with him further, a certain little boy has already climbed in and is making 'vrooming' sounds, Tigger in shotgun.

"Here Cowboy, Grampa will help you start her up."

As Grampa rushes over, I go hold onto Cas. "It'll be all right Baby."

"What if he hurts himself, Cas?" Thank-God Michael isn't here to see this, he'd be having a bird.

"He'll be okay. Maybe Father's right, maybe we coddle him."

Of course we do, that's not my current concern; I like coddling him just fine thank-you very much. I decide to keep my mouth shut…I couldn't say anything if I wanted to anyhow, I'm too nervous as I hear the whir of the electric motor—it even sounds like an electric Impala might. It is something special and I'm loving the smile on Dean's face.

"Okay, Dean. That's the gas there and the break here."

"I know Grampa."

He does?

"Okay then, go slow 'till you get the hang and don't drive over Gramma's flower beds or she might spank you."

"Won't Grampa."

"Go'on then. Take her for a spin."

Cas pulls me a tighter into his side, as Dean presses on the gas…and takes off. It's clear he's driven before. Little boys just don't have that kind of driving dexterity. Ha! I'd like that Crowley character to see him now, guess his 'special' Modlenol wasn't enough to override everything. Dean goes slow, like Grampa said and gets the hang of it, then he's across the property, expertly making turns around the pond and around his Gramma's flowerbeds. He even makes a few risky maneuvers that from the outside might look like he's a clumsy three-year-old, but I've already seen enough to know better. "Dean Winchester, you drive careful and slow down, or Daddy's going to take you out of that thing!"

"Sorry, Daddy!" he shouts laughing. I don't think he really cares about what I said. We all watch him rip around the expansive grounds; I'm marveling at him. He can't hold a pen well enough to write his name legibly, but _this_ he can do. I'm willing to bet it's because his body and mind are remembering as he drives, particular skills he can access from 'no place.' Things from his old life that just won't shake loose, no matter what. His car was and still is something deeply seated in his psyche, hence, this skill was preserved. Jensen and Jared may have it for now, but he still talks about that car all the time.

Dean finally pulls up to us, a huge smile on his face. "Thank-you Grampa," he says.

"You are welcome," he smirks at us. Okay, okay, I'll give this one to Clyde. He was one hundred percent right, but he isn't always even if he thinks he is.

"Thank-you Father," I say. "I can see he loves it." Dean's already taken off again.

Clyde watches Dean proudly as Cas pulls me in front of him and grips me around the waist. We watch Dean some more. Of course it's just as we're called in for dinner that Dean decides to take a sharp turn. The car rolls onto its side. I can already tell Dean and the car are okay, but it scares him and he's crying for Daddy. I'm secretly a bit happy. Not that my little boy got scared, but that he still needs me for something. I know, I know, he's only three, he'll need me for a long time yet, but whenever I see him doing something 'big' I remember my days of him needing me are numbered.

"Daddy, Dean falled over."

I pick him up, set him on my hip and begin checking him over. "Is a bad car," he says.

"I don't think so," I say as much as I'd like to agree with him. "Dean was driving too fast. What did Daddy say?" It's only a light scolding at best. I'm swaying him and kissing his little crown, coddling the fudge out of him.

"Slow down Dean 'Chester," he croaks.

"That's right." This actually couldn't come at a better time—when you're a parent you learn to seize these opportunities. "We're going to have dinner now anyway. Dean's car's going to have a rest 'till later, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy."

I right the car with my free hand and grab Tigger giving him to Dean. "Isn't nice to tell Dean 'Chester to go fast, Tigger," he scolds blaming his toy.

"It's not Tigger's fault you listened to him, Sur."

"Is, Daddy."

I roll my eyes at Cas who's asking me without words if Dean's okay. "He's fine. I think he needs to eat." Dean is reaching hangry.

"Did you fall off your horse Cowboy?" Clyde says and Dean reaches for him, probably feeling he didn’t get enough sympathy from me.

"Did, Grampa. Tigger says to go too fast."

"I ought to spank you Tigger," Clyde says.

Dean laughs and I can't believe my ears. I look at Cas with a, 'are you sure this is really your father?' look on my face. Cas shrugs. Clyde gets more and more obliging of Dean each day. I've seen a lot of this behavior now, since they visit often, but I still can't believe it.

Christian's still not here when we're all set around the table for dinner, but Claire gets the staff to serve us up anyway. "I made your favorite homemade macaroni and cheese, Dollface."

"Thank-you Gramma and for Dean's car."

"You're welcome baby boy. I want to see later."

"Okay, but can't go too fast, even if Tigger says; else Dean 'Chester falls over, Gramma."

It's when we're all about to have our first bite, Christian comes galloping through the door. "I should tan your hide, boy. Your mother told you to be here an hour ago." No one, not even Claire, is dumb enough to mention that Clyde didn't seem to care if Christian was late a moment ago...when he was giving Dean presents. Suddenly he minds.

Christian ignores being scolded in favor of Dean. "Yee-haw! Well if it ain't my little Texas Ranger. Howdy, Dean."

He picks Dean up out of his seat and tosses him in the air. Dean's giggling. "Are these guys boring you to absolute death?"

"Now I say, well I say there's no need for all this ruckus. Sit your behind down in that chair, boy. Sometimes Dean prefers a nice quiet afternoon."

Yes. Clyde has a very optimistic view of little ones, or I should say of Dean.

I'm sure this time, what Clyde's saying is meant to poke at his middle son. They don't exactly get along. Christian actually fits in with the Colts a lot better than he does the Winchesters. He's cool. Like Johnny Depp in Twenty-One Jump Street cool. He began working for Winchester Rifles last year after he graduated with his Masters in business, though he almost didn't, he had wanted to start his own company, but Cas convinced him. He quickly became our top sales rep and is now head of sales in our Texas office; we think he'll head it someday. He's got over a hundred employees under him.

He's only twenty-six.

And while he's far more outgoing than Cas and less ridged, don't be fooled, he may fit in with the Colt's, but he's still got the Winchester edge. We'll just say that edge isn't as sharp as Cas's is, he can still be as authoritative as heck when he wants to be, while being fun Uncle Christian all at the same time. He's thin and tall with dark hair and man is he attractive. He's got the bright blue Winchester eyes like Cas and Clyde do. Cas's baby sister Clarabelle has them too. Yes, Cas's sister is named Clarabelle, after Claire of course.

Christian used to spend a lot of time with us Colts actually; we've heard he's not been around as much these past four years, which is strange. I was sure I'd figured out last time he had a little crush on Caroline, I know she's got one on him. He took her to the fundraiser last year, but nothing happened after that. Guess he's been pretty busy with school and now working. He's well behaved enough, but not enough to avoid constant disapproval from his father.

Christian sets Dean down and Dean's still staring up at him; he loves his Uncle Christian. "Sorry I'm late Mother. Heya brother Cas," Christian teases him, like all the Colts call him. "Hey Sammy."

"Sit, down," Clyde says and even Christian will only misbehave so far. Clyde will spank him and in front of us, we've seen it plenty. He sits.

"Hello, Christian. Good to see you," Cas says.

"Yes. Definitely," I say.

"So, is this it?" Christian says.

"You know Clarabelle doesn't fly home 'till day after tomorrow, she's taking that extra summer course at school."

Cas's 'baby' sister is nineteen and in her second year of college.

"Caroline left with Dallas," Cas informs him with a smile, knowing that's who he was probably indirectly asking about. Cas and I spent hours planning their wedding one night after last year's fundraiser and a few drinks. Christian is well known for being a bit of a playboy, but we think once he meets the right person, he'd settle down. It would be fun if that special someone was my sister.

That's when I catch _Dean_ looking at Christian, a flash of understanding across his eyes. He quietly eats his macaroni though. I suddenly know Clyde is right, we don't give him enough credit, just because he's 'three.' But it makes me think: How would Christian have known Caroline was picking up Dally?

"You caught me," he says too easily. "Wanted to see if she'd accompany me to the fundraiser again. Was fun last year."

We've all started eating by this point and I'm doing yet more thinking. Why hide it in the first place, only to admit to that so quickly?

"Just ask her out," Cas advises. "We all know she's had a crush on you forever. I'm surprised you're not married after last year." Cas shares a look with me and I know he's thinking about our wedding planning.

"Men like us don't get married, right Dean?"

Dean laughs. "Papa says no way."

We all laugh at that. I feel sorry for the boy or girl that thinks he or she is taking away Cas's little boy.

Dinner is calm after that, we all eat and enjoy, laugh some more and catch up, but I'm thinking the whole time and I come to my own conclusion. Christian couldn't have been asking after Caroline. No, and Cas and I were wrong before.

Dallas. He was asking after Dallas.


	6. There Were Four in the Bed and the Little Dean Said...(1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been lazy about mentioning Dean's Michael necklace. He's still got it, it's always there unless I say otherwise. I'll make sure to bring it up next chapter.

I wake when a little fist punches me in the face.

Last night, Dean didn’t want to sleep in his bed, so we let him sleep with us. We love him sleeping with us and don't mind in the least, but he's become a restless sleeper in his little boy years, shifting around like a cat. Cas and I don't get much sleep.

I look over at my little sleeping monster, sweetly sucking his soother at irregular intervals, splayed out, comfortable as you please, his little foot resting on his papa's belly and his other arm on papa's face. I can't help laughing. Cas groans quietly, winces and reaches behind his back for something then pulls out Tigger and throws it at me. "That's what's been in my back. I dreamt I was sleeping on a soft rock. He kicked me seven times last night," Cas says in a whisper.

"I got off easy then with just four," I whisper back and rub my eyes. "You wanna go start coffee, or should I?"

If one of us leaves, the other might actually be able to get a bit of sleep. Our boy can lounge out on one side and one of us on the other. Two Daddies, a Dean and a Tigger are just too many for this bed.

Cas doesn't get to answer, there's a knock at the door—at least he knocks.

"Come in," Cas says.

"Riiiise and shine, campers!" Clyde says really fudging loud.

Clyde has really latched onto this grampa thing over the years and he always has a thousand and one things planned for him and Dean that sometimes start at god awful hours, but Clyde seems to have the idea that everyone should be up with the worms in general.

We've been really lucky with Dean in that he's not a crazy early riser, which means Daddy gets to sleep 'till a reasonable hour. It'll be something we'll both have to change once he's in school, but for now, it really works for Daddy. Getting him to bed may be tough, but he likes his beauty sleep.

All of Cas's shifting around doesn't disturb Dean, but Grampa's loud voice makes Dean's eyes bolt open, he looks around bewildered, then his lips frown into a telltale pout. I grab him up just as he's about to cry. "Oh, didn't see you there, Cowboy," Clyde says to Dean as Dean tears up. Thankfully he's not sobbing.

"Father," Cas says trying not to sound too annoyed, but Cas looks tired, like, really tired. It couldn't have been comfortable sleeping with Tigger wedged into his vertebrae.

"Breakfast is on the table, up and at'em," he says, not sorry at all and leaves.

I scowl at Cas over Dean's head as Cas rubs the sleep from his eyes.

"I'll go stall them, you can deal with sleeping beauty," Cas offers, knowing Dean'll want me and that I'd much prefer him to deal with his parents. He throws on a pair of loose jeans and a polo shirt, fixes his hair a bit and leaves.

I shush Dean and carry him to his room so I can change him. "Hush my babe, I know Grampa's a lunatic."

"Is, is, too early for Dean 'Chester Daddy," he says rubbing at his eyes.

"I know. Believe me. Did you know you kicked Papa and Daddy while you were sleeping last night?"

That stops his crying instantly and he laughs. "Dean did?"

"Yep. We didn't get any sleep."

"You hasta have a nap later?"

"Probably. Do you want to go pee in Grampa's toilet?"

"No thank-you, Daddy."

Right. I slip a new diaper underneath him.

"Daddy, Dean's still sleepy," he complains once his diaper's all changed.

"I know sweetheart. Daddy'll carry you and if you can sleep on me, okay?"

"Kay," he whines.

I go back to our room to get dressed half decent—Clyde isn't too fond of pajamas at the breakfast table—and I have to put Dean down, which he's not too happy about. "Mmmm, Daddy," he whines some more.

"Just for a second Dean Bean."

"No."

I wish I could throttle Clyde. I put him down anyway and give him his Tigger; he's pissed, he throws Tigger across the room. "Youse is not listenin' Daddy."

Oh I'm listening. I ignore his outburst as he continues to have a little tantrum on the bed, kicking and complaining by way of little grunts and pouty noises. "Lordy bee, Dean. Daddy'll be just a second." I throw on some shorts and a tank top quickly, then pick up Mr. Cranky-pants.

He settles down a bit now that he's gotten some of what he wanted and I retrieve Tigger, which he hugs into him. I bring out my 'joyful' boy, curled into me, sucking his soother, playing with my hair in one hand and holding Tigger to him by the other. He's not going back to sleep, just awake enough to pout. I greet everyone, it's just Clyde and Claire, and take my seat next to Cas. I don't put Dean in his chair; he'll pitch a fit.

"What's the matter dollface? Gramma made your favorite breakfast. Waffles!"

"Is, is, too sleepy Gramma. Tigger got throwed." He's still got his head in my shoulder.

Dean feels bad for throwing his Tigger, he knows Gramma will tell him it's okay. "Thankfully Tigger's made of fluff. Here, I'll get you some waffles."

Dean pulls back to look at me, probably a little unsure if he's in trouble for throwing Tigger, since I did lightly scold him. "Dean hasta eat now, Daddy?"

I can't find it in my heart to say anymore about it even though I know that's what he's looking for. He's only three, but constantly and subconsciously seeks structure. "How about you just have some quiet waking up time?"

He nods, but he's looking over at Papa.

"You want to sit with Papa?"

He nods again and reaches for Cas. "Papa, Tigger got throwed," he says immediately upon sitting.

"He 'got throwed' did he? Who threw him?"

"Dean does it, Papa."

"Is that very nice?"

"Isn't nice. Sorry, Tigger," he says petting him and we all have to hide our smiles.

Cas kisses the top of his head. "Thanks, Angel. I think you should eat. Can Papa feed you some waffles?"

"Please, Papa."

Sometimes you just need Cas's stern direction when you feel funny inside, I understand and though Dean doesn't yet, he intuitively seems to know how to get what he needs from Cas. It's really sweet.

We get settled and dig in, Dean becomes a bit more animated, but I can already tell our boy will need an early nap.

"So, Dean, you want to come hang out with Grampa today? The boys at the club would like to meet you."

Clyde has been meeting with the same friends since he mostly retired, once a week for afternoon golf and drinks. He has to drive an hour out to get to his club, but he says it's worth it. "No golf today, just a meet and greet. They haven't seen you since last year."

I shoot a look at Cas, that's the least kid friendly thing ever. He'll be bored to tears, but he really likes showing Dean off. We don't know what we're going to say, because Clyde Winchester didn't ask us, which means our two cents are not welcome and we've got to be careful when we're here, since we're in his home, but this is one time a cheeky three-year-old comes in handy. "Dean doesn't like it there Grampa."

Dean probably doesn't even remember, since he forgets what you tell him five seconds ago, but Dean's wise enough to figure out that, hanging out with Grampa's friends isn't up his alley.

"But, Dean, they were looking real forward," Clyde says flabbergast. He was looking real forward he means.

"They can come here?" he asks.

"Well I…well I, never thought of that. Claire! Can it be done?"

"Of course, Clyde. I can call them for you, I'm sure they won't mind."

"See now, Dean? They're coming here now, how's that?"

He shrugs. "Is good Grampa." Dean opens his mouth, so Cas can fork some waffle into his mouth. Dean looks a bit off to me. It could be because his schedule is now completely thrown off two days in a row, he could be missing Michael, but still. I'd better keep my eyes on him.

~GUW~

"Dunno, what do you think?"

Tigger looks at me with a bored expression, he's fucking tired. "Not my fault you stayed out all night, Tigger."

He kicks his seat back and pulls his sunglasses over his eyes. Asshole. Sometimes I don't know why I'm friends with the guy, he can be a real selfish dick. Guess this one's all on me. I shut the car door and head over to Miss Piggy's house. Grampa and Gramma have a pretty sweet set up for me in their back yard. There's a little house Grampa had build for me last year. It's not one of those toy, plastic deals like I've seen at Harlow's, it's made of real wood and has real windows and a door.

I knock on the door, but have to just go inside. Miss Piggy's sitting there and looks scared. "Ma'am," I say remembering what Daddy and Papa taught me about talking to ladies. "Did you see where the spider went?"

I've got a broom in one hand, a Dean sized broom.

Suddenly, Tigger busts in the door. "Don't Dean, it's a fucking trap! She's the spider."

"What?"

Tigger pounces on Miss Piggy, attacking her and sure enough, she reveals her true form as the evil spider monster, Arachniswine. But Tigger has no trouble defeating her. He's really gotten buff since he's been here. Grampa probably made him work out lots.

I remember why I'm friends with him, even though he's a douche sometimes: Tigger's always got my fucking back. "Wow, Tigger. Thanks," I say when she's toast.

"That's what Tigger's do best," he says. I hug him.

Daddy and Gramma are sitting at the table out back as I drive around in my Dean's car, 'cause someone always has to keep an eye out for me, Daddy says. I decide to drive out to my tree, the one I like to hang out under sometimes. Grampa takes me to the tree and we sit under it, while he tells me stories.

Papa and Grampa are inside, probably taking care of boring, business stuff. I keep trying to tell Papa that he should just stay home with me and Daddy, he doesn't need to go to work anymore, but he just tells me that I'll understand one day. I doubt it.

I pull up to the tree and get out and lay with Tigger on my back. I wish I had some fucking juice or something. It's so god damned hot. Tigger wants a beer; I kind of think he's developed a drinking problem since he's been here.

It's not long 'till Daddy comes to get me. "Watcha doin' Dean Bean?"

I pull out my soother. "Is resting Daddy. Dean, Dean, Dean and Tigger got the spider monster. Is hard work."

"You want to come with Daddy? We can have juice and a nap."

"Juice please Daddy." I don't need a nap. If I rest I'll be just fine. Daddy doesn't look convinced.

But I do hold my arms out to him so he'll pick me up, too tired from killing the Arachniswine to walk back with him. "Oh, I have to carry you, do I?" he says reaching down and scooping me up.

"I tol' you Daddy. Dean's ezhuasted."

He carries me across the lawn to where Gramma is and Daddy grabs my sippy cup with juice off the table for me. He trades me my soother for the juice, since I've already got Tigger in one hand. "Do you mind if I lay down with him, Mother? That way we'll both be more lively when Father's friends get here. Dean was a jumping bean in bed last night, weren't you my babe?"

I'm in the middle of sucking back juice, so I have to pull my cup away and take a breath before I answer him. "Is not a jumpin' bean Daddy. Just a Dean bean," I say insulted. They both think that's funny.

Daddy pushes hair off my face and is staring at me funny.

"I don't mind at all Sam. You go'on now."

"Hey!" I say as we head inside, I was not consulted on this nap business, not really.

"Daddy's too tired to argue with you sweetheart, so how about this? We can call Michael real quick before you go to sleep, sound good?"

"We can?"

"Yep." It looks like we're going to sleep in Daddy and Papa's room where I hope they know I plan on sleeping tonight. "We'll call him then you'll have a little snooze and be all ready for Grampa's friends. I hear one of them is bringing their grandson, maybe you'll make a friend."

I scowl at Daddy, because I doubt it. Most of the people they introduce me to, suck. I've got my two best friends, Michael and Tigger. I'm good. Daddy rolls his eyes at me as he checks my diaper and places me on the bed. He pulls out his cell and phones Michael via facetime.

"Michael!" I say when he answers.

He squints at me. "Who is this?"

"Michael, it's your Dean."

"Duckling? Is that you?"

"Is me, is me, is really me."

"It's been so long, you look different. I'm starting to forget what you look like—I think you'd better call me everyday."

"Is a long time," I say seriously. "Daddy I can call Michael everyday?"

"Everyday," Daddy says.

"Daddy says, yes."

"Hi Michael," Daddy says coming into the camera's view for a quick second.

"Hello, sir."

"Dean's going for a snooze," I say to bring this conversation back to me.

"You are? Are you being a good boy for your daddies?"

"Ine always a good boy."

He smirks. "I wouldn't take a poll on that one if I was you."

I don't know what that means. "Grampa gaved me a car. It's, it's Dean's car. I drive it everywhere. I crashed once." I say excited. I can't wait to show him.

"He gave you a what?"

Daddy bangs his head lightly against the wall for some reason. "Can I talk to your daddy for a minute?"

I shrug and hand the phone over to Daddy. "He wasn't injured, Michael," Daddy says right away. "I would have told you if he was."

"You text me he was safe last night."

"He was safe."

"Driving in some contraption he crashed."

"He was driving too fast, he's been more careful since I talked to him about it."

"Until the next time."

Daddy sighs. He really is tired, Michael's not helping. I climb onto Daddy's lap so Michael can see both of us and I can see Michael again, he looks pissed. "You're not riding in that thing Dean."

"Am too."

"Mr. Winchester."

"Daddy," I say on the verge of tears.

"Okay. Michael we'll call you back later—"

"Mr. Winchester, please—"

"Later." Daddy hangs up and I don't even get to say goodbye, which is good because I didn't fucking want to anyway. "C'mere, Dean Bean."

Daddy pulls me to him and slides down the bed, so we're both lying down. "Youse is going to…youse is going to take Dean's car?" I'm crying into Daddy's chest.

"No one's taking Dean's car. Michael's just a worry wart."

"But he said—"

"Daddy will talk to him."

That's not very promising, when it comes to stuff like this, like my safety, Michael can be pretty fucking persuasive. "And if that doesn't work, I'll sick Papa on him. You know what Papa says goes."

There. That's reassuring. Papa is the boss and he likes telling Michael where to stick it. But what if Papa agrees with Michael?

"Youse can ask him now Daddy? Please?"

"Close your eyes sweetheart, I promise we'll get it all sorted with Papa when you wake up."

I shake my head. "No, Daddy."

"Shh, c'mon sweetheart. Daddy's tired."

And my world is coming to an end, I think that's more important. I glare at him and Daddy folds. He pulls out his cellphone. "Okay, pumpkin. Papa will be here in a few minutes, will you just close your eyes for Daddy, please Dean Bean?"

"You can sing to me, please Daddy?"

"Christopher Robin and I walked along under branches lit up by the moon. Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore as our days disappeared all too soon. But I've wandered much further today than I should, and I can't seem to find my way back to the wood…"

"You, you, don't sing it like Dally does, Daddy," I complain and cry. "We, can call him?"

I think I hear him mutter that's he's going to throttle himself an angel when we get home. That's when Papa comes in. "Papa," I say bolting up. I start a mangled, strangled version of what happened with Michael and he can't understand me, so he has to look to Daddy for a better one. Daddy fills him in.

"C'mere, Kiddo." I jump into his arms. Papa looks tired too, maybe he should have a nap with us. Daddy rolls onto his back and closes his eyes, confident Papa's got this one. "You know what Papa says goes, right?"

"Dean does, Papa," I say seriously because it's never a good idea to fuck with Papa.

"Michael's just worried about you because he's not here and Papa promises that as long as you're a good boy and drive responsibly, your car will not be taken away, understand?"

I nod and rub my eyes. "Dean does, Papa."

"Okay, Papa will take care of Michael, now it's time for a snooze."

"We's is all ezhuasted Papa. Dean and Tigger killed the big spider."

Papa looks over at Daddy who opens and eye at the silence. "Over at Miss Piggy's house," Daddy explains.

"Whatever you say, Kiddo."

"We need Uncle Dally to sing the Pooh song, Papa. We can call him?"

"We'll get Uncle Dally to swing by for dinner. For now you'll have to settle for Papa's version of Rainbow Connection."

"O- _kay_ ," I say a little put out. Daddy closes his eyes again.

"What happened to your soother?" Papa asks. Daddy holds it up, still with his eyes closed; Papa takes it from him and gives it to me. So Papa sings to me and I'm mostly asleep when he leaves me cuddled up to Daddy and then Dean's…out.

~GUW~

It's always hard the first few days we're here. Dean doesn't like the change in his routine, it's even more important that Papa reassures him he's still got the same structures of home. Because it doesn't matter where we are, so long as it's Sam, Dean and I, we are home.

My father is already on my ass about several things and I'm not really sure how to deal with them yet. Dean's Sunday School plans for starters. Just because I've staved him off, doesn't mean he's stopped asking all the fucking time and worse, it's fueled by Mother who would also like to see her only grandson in Sunday School. Sam really wants to wait 'till he's four. Dean can tell you what he wants more clearly now, but Sam would rather wait 'till next year. And Dean is coming to church while we're here apparently. Fuck. That's not going to be fun. Asking Dean to sit still, is like asking a housefly to stop pissing you off at night. Neither one is capable, nor are they very interested. It will lead to Dean getting spanked. I don't relish in entering situations where I know I'm going to have to be hard on him; it's hard on me too.

And somehow, I've got to break this all to Sam. He's going to be pissed.

We really thought it was going to be the diaper-soother thing that Father disliked, but it turns out, he doesn't want him to grow up anymore than Sam does.

I'm so tired. This isn't the first time in our lives with Dean and it won't be the last. Having a little one means you miss sleep and when you're me, you still have to deal with a shitload of other things. Like your overbearing, controlling Father.

Now that I'm a Father, I can't help but take more care in what I say yes and no to, because I hope Dean will take the same care and have the same respect for me when he's older. I know they only have Dean's best interest at heart—that's what makes it more difficult.

I decide to go check on my boys, Dean was right, I could use a sleep too, but there's going to be no time for Papa to sleep. When I peek in, Sam is fast asleep, while Dean looks to be playing some kind of game involving Tigger and a sleeping Daddy, since Tigger is crawling across Daddy's arm. Sam doesn't even notice. "Dean," I whisper.

He looks up at me and smiles and is about to shout 'Papa,' but I stop him by putting my finger to my mouth. "Shh, let Daddy stay sleeping, come see Papa."

Dean crawls across the bed, Tigger in his fist and climbs down, then makes his way over to me, I pick him up and he hugs me, while I carry him to his room to change his diaper, which feels wet. "Did you have a good nap, Kiddo?"

"Yeah, Papa"

"Let's get you changed and something to eat. Gramma made lunch for you."

I change Dean's diaper. That's where I differ tremendously from the men in my family, they're not really the diaper changing sorts even if Father has chipped in over these past years with Dean. He still skips out sometimes, but I don't. I'm very proud to Father Dean and even though I know Sam wouldn't mind; I don't want to leave him with all of the less fun responsibilities.

"What we gonna do now, Papa?" he asks as I slip the new diaper underneath him.

"Grampa's friends are going to be here soon, but we're going to eat first."

"Daddy's tired, Papa."

"He is."

"Dean kicked Daddy and Papa in the night time."

"You did. That bed's too small for three people I think."

"Is not. Dean likes to sleep with Daddy and Papa."

I know where this is going. "He does? How come Dean's not sleeping in his own bed."

"Doesn't like it."

I've noticed that's his reason for not doing a lot of things; it's pretty simple with three year olds. When he's re-diapered and dressed, I bring him out to the kitchen. "Sam still sleeping?" Mother says.

"Is sleeping Gramma," Dean answers for me, as he reaches for her. Mother sets him on her hip and he snuggles in. "Dean's hungry."

"Well let's get you somethin' to eat then, Doll."

Dean's happy while Gramma feeds him then we release him free into the backyard. Sam rises shortly after that. "You wanna go lay down, Cassy?"

"I'm too wound up to sleep, but I am tired, Baby. FYI, our boy informed me that he doesn't like sleeping in his own bed."

"What? When did that start?"

"Last night I guess."

"Hmmm…I think he might be fighting a bug, Cassy. He's not sick yet, but he's been off. At first I thought it was just him missing Michael, or the travel, but now I'm thinking something else. I've been watching him."

"His birthday party is in two days."

"I know. I'm going to give him some stuff from my bag to see if I can help his immune system. We'll get your mother to whip him up some broth, I'm sure she'll like doing that, but that's really all we can do. Kids get sick all the time, we've been lucky with Dean he hasn't been sick often—maybe that's a positive to being a Moddler, your immune system still 'remembers' to some degree. I'm not sure. Either way he's fighting it. He may have been woken up early, but _he_ had a good sleep, just because we didn't."

And our boy likes to be right next to his daddy when he's not feeling well. "So what you're telling me is that neither of us can look forward to any sleep for the next little while."

"'Fraid not."

"Maybe I will go lay down; rest my eyes."

"You do that Cassy. I'll be fine with him while your father's friends are here. He seems okay right now. The nap did him some good, but I dunno. I keep feeling his skin so he doesn't notice, but it's hard to tell. His temperature seems okay. I don't want to use a thermometer and freak him out unless I have to."

"Okay, Baby. That's a good plan and I approve," I kiss his forehead. "I'll see you in an hour."

~GUW~

Dean isn't in a good mood to begin with, which is why I'm surprised he's so agreeable to his grandfather's friends. Grampa's got him and Tigger, Dean's sucking away on his soother as each of the courtly men shake his hand and greet Dean like he's a long lost member of their cigar club. They even shake Tigger's paw.

Then there's little Edwin Colin George William Bristow the third. _Jesus H_.

He's the smallest three-year-old I've ever seen, but he's flipping cute. And he wears a pair of tiny glasses. Apparently he was a preemie and his little eyes were affected by the oxygen treatments he'd had to undergo at birth. Poor little thing's also got a touch of asthma. I'm not sure he's the best pairing for my rough and tumble little boy. Dean is assessing him in the way little boys do, but also in the way Dean does.

"Yep. My Edwin's a smart one," Edwin's Grandfather, Charles, says. "Can already write his own name."

Clyde, not wanting to be outdone especially when it comes to his grandson tells him, "Dean, well I say, Dean's been writing his name a year now. He's onto numbers, countin' away every chance he gets. Don't you Dean?"

"Yes Grampa, sir," Dean says.

"And see? He even knows how to address his elders." Grampa kisses his forehead.

"Well that is impressive," Charles says. Much as they all compete, they seem to hold a special regard for Clyde. "He's a Moddler though. Doesn't that make him a bit more advanced?"

"It's just the opposite in fact. The Modlenol Dean was hit with makes advancing that much harder. He's had to work, but Dean's simply the most amazing thing on God's green Earth, wouldn't you say, Claire?"

Neither Claire nor I, remind Clyde that he's also the one that thinks Dean's hindrances are all hogwash and allow him to bathe in the glory of having a grandson who by the sounds of it, was spawned by Superman. "I would say so, Clyde. But he's my grandson, so I'm bound to be biased," she admits laying a tray of drinks out for all of us.

"Well he is and he's worked hard. It's like I always told y'all, this boy here is special and can do anything he sets his mind to. If it weren't for me, all y'all would be holding him back. Why, just yesterday I proved it. He can drive like it was nothing. Walk in the park for our Dean."

All of Clyde's friends look in awe of Dean, poor little Edwin forgotten—though I don't think Edwin cares about being talked about—so Clyde continues to tell them all of his little boy feats from peeing with Cheerios, to drawing him a picture of cowboy that was in Clyde's words, 'an almost exact replica of Clint Eastwood.'

I don't even think Clyde feels he's exaggerating, and I enjoy listening because it is really cute. Before long, even Dean grows bored and restless, listening to a bunch of old guys talk, even if it is about him and how he's perfect in every way. "Why, it was Dean's idea I invite everyone over here. And why shouldn't we relax in my home? It's a nice change."

"Here, here, Dean," they all toast to him.

"Dean goes to play now Grampa?"

"Of course. You go'on little cowboy. Why don't you make Edwin's acquaintance?"

Dean looks like it's the last thing he wants to do, but he doesn't want to let Grampa down. "You want to play?" Dean says to the other little boy.

The boy who had also been staring at Dean in awe, right along with the aristocratic old man group, nods shyly as he slides down from his grampa's lap. "You be a good boy, Edwin."

Edwin doesn't answer, following after Dean who's already making his way to the sliding glass door that will take them out back. "I'll go watch them gentlemen," I say. "Enjoy your drinks."

Edwin quickly becomes Dean's little minion, who I'm sure will willingly do anything Dean asks and Dean recognizes it right away. But will my little boy use his powers for good, or evil? I decide to just watch them and find out. "Youse wants to ride in Dean's car, Edwin?"

Wow. That's a big deal. I doubt he'd invite Desi or Harlow to ride in Dean's car unless I made him.

The little boy looks scared, but he won't dare say no to Dean, wanting his friendship too badly. He climbs in, but has trouble. I expect Dean to look exasperated, but he looks worried. "Here. Dean helps you, okay?"

I'm so fudging proud of my little boy, I want to go back in and tell the old crowd what he just did, to add to the Clyde barrage of 'what Dean can do.' He pushes on the smaller boy's bum with all his might and Edwin's able to climb up into the car. "Tanks, Dean," he says readjusting his little glasses. They are held on by a strap around his head; but looks like they still move around a bit.

God that kid's cute. And so is mine for being such a good helper. He still seems off to me though, so I keep a good eye on him and the other little one. He's not exactly sick, otherwise I might have at least warned Clyde's friend not to bring Edwin. For me, I'm not afraid to have Dean around other sick kids. I mean, malaria, or small pox are different stories, but with the smaller less life defying sicknesses, well I'm of the opinion kids are supposed to get sick from other kids, to strengthen their immune systems. Edwin looks like he could use a little immune system strengthening, I mean, it's not my call, but if it were, that's what I would say.

Michael is in complete opposition of my opinion of course and almost had an angel heart attack when he heard Dean's last cold was because I allowed him to play with Desi, who had some sniffles. To make matters more abhorrent, in Michaels' mind, I wouldn't allow Michael to heal Dean, since I wanted his immune system to build. Colds are great for that. They aren't life threatening and they're gone within nine or ten days. Of course seeing my little boy sick always breaks my heart (I don't wish for him to get sick) but I accept it as a natural part of life.

Dean puts Tigger in the middle of them and takes off at the speed he normally would, but the little boy looks terrified, he won't tell Dean though. I decide to intervene. "Dean, come back here a minute please."

Dean looks put out having to turn around for annoying Daddy, but he does and pulls up at my feet. "Do you remember what your papa said about driving carefully?"

"Dean was, Daddy."

"I know, but I just wanted to make sure you remembered. Why don't you slow down just a little for Edwin, since it's his first time?"

"Edwin likes to go fast, Daddy," he informs me.

Instead of asking him how he became such an expert on Edwin in the two seconds he's known him, I say, "you mind, me Dean Daniel, understood?"

"Okay, Daddy." I swear I hear him mutter a 'jeez' under his breath, but I let it go since he's doing as I asked.

Edwin looks relieved as Dean drives around at a much slower pace. He takes him all over the yard. I can't hear what they're talking about, but Edwin's looking at Dean like he hung the moon. And Dean, I think he might actually _like_ the small, nerdy looking boy.

I call them both in to have a snack and a drink of juice and Dean tells me, "Eddie and Dean is on an adventure Daddy."

"Eddie?"

"Edwin, Daddy," is his explanation.

"I see."

The pair are off again and Cas comes out to check on us placing his arms around my waist. "What's this, Baby?"

"I'm not sure Cassy, but I think Dean has a little friend."

"Good, because I'm going to strangle that angel next time I see him. Dean'll need a replacement friend."

I was mad too, before I'd slept, but now I'm in a better mood to deal with Michael's antics. "Oh Cas, Michael's just worried about Dean. It sucked that it happened to be around naptime, but everything's fine."

"He upset Dean."

"Dean gets upset when you don't give him the 'right' toy at bath time."

"I know, Baby. It's hard for me."

Don't I know it? Poor Cas. His parents are probably already on him too. Dean drives up to us and pulls his soother out. "Hi Papa! Daddy, Edwin can have one of Dean's soothers? We wants to be the same."

He wants to give Edwin a soother? "I think I have a few new ones, but I'd better check with Edwin's grampa first." Some parents are funny about the whole soother thing.

"Okay. You can check with him now please, Daddy?"

Charles ends up telling me that his parents still let him have one at bedtime, so he doesn't see the harm in him playing whatever game he and Dean want to with one, so I fetch a new one and wash it off.

"Here you go Edwin. Does anyone need to pee?" I ask them both.

I can see the 'no' on Dean's lips, but Edwin who seems a little more confident in his 'friend status' with Dean, says, "yes," without checking with him. Dean looks at him, then at me and says, "we can shoot at Cheerios together, Daddy?"

"Yep. C'mon boys."

~GUW~

I wasn't fucking prepared to like Edwin so much. First, the name, the poor kid. I might only be three, but I've already interacted enough with other kids to know they can be fucking mean and this kid's got a target on him with a name like that, but not while I'm around. If they want to mess with him, they can mess with me.

Still, his name had to go. Eddie is so much cooler. Even his last name is pretty cool, maybe he can go by that sometimes, we'll see. It's a bit hard to say, some words still are.

But when I heard him wheezing slightly as he followed me outside, I felt so fucking sorry for the kid who looked excited to play with me, so I decided I should let him ride in my car. Then, he confirmed everything for me when I asked him what he liked to do and he shrugged. "What do you and your friends like to do?" I pursued.

"I don't got no friends, Dean," he said.

Well those kids who don't want to be his friends are dicks. "Dean's your friend," I told him and he fucking smiled like a possum with a sweet potato, or however the fuck Papa says that.

All day we played and he seemed real careful not to do anything he thought I wouldn't like, but he loosened up and got comfortable and I knew he'd feel bad if I told Daddy I wasn't going to pee when he already said he did. So I fucking peed for him, it's what friends do for each other—Michael even did it for me.

Speaking of that dickhead, I'm not speaking to that dickhead. I've got a new friend and Michael can kiss my go-to-hell (I hear Uncle Christian say that sometimes when he forgets I'm there.)

I'm not very pleased when he has to go, but Daddy says we can have a 'play date,' another day while we're here.

But now he's gone and it's just Tigger and I again, until Uncle Christian comes barreling through the door. "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my _DAR_ -lin' Clementine! You are lost and gone forever, oh my darlin' Clementine!"

"You're on my last nerve, son," Grampa says to him. "How many times have I got to tell you? No screeching in the house. This ain't a barn."

Grampa and Papa feel the same way about screeching. I giggle at them. "Oh? You think it's funny Uncle Christian getting into trouble, huh squirt?" he says, grabbing me up and tickling me.

"Yeah," I say, not bothering to take my soother out. He sets me on his shoulders and I set Tigger on his head, he holds my feet.

"We gonna eat soon?" he asks Gramma.

"We are sweetheart, we're just waitin' on a couple of dinner guests. Samuel's invited a few of his family members. You can go see them you know Sam; I know you're feeling obligated to stay with us. We don't mind, they're probably dying to see you."

Gramma invited some of the Colts? She should know by now that if you invite one Colt, you invite them all. She could have fifty dinner guests if she's not careful. I remember Papa saying he'd call Dally for dinner, guess that comes with at least a few Colts.

"I will Ma'am," Daddy says. "Thank you."

"Oh? Uh, who we waitin' on?"

Uncle Christian probably wants to know if Dally is coming, since he has it bad for my Uncle Dally. No one knows except me, well, and Auntie Caroline. This is one of the perks in being a baby. They don't think I understand some of the shit I do. And I may not remember everything about when I was littler, but I remember this. It's important.

Last time we were here I was with Auntie Caroline when Uncle Christian came running in from the porch. "What in tarnation, Christian Winchester?"

"You have to go to the fundraiser with me."

"And just why do I have to do that?"

"Well first, Dallas is going with that Yankee doodle, Kane Jasper."

"You ain't going to make him jealous, Chris. That's not how Dal works. Especially not with me."

"I know, but that's not to make him jealous, just to save face. I did…I did some'im else stupid."

"Dare I ask what?"

"I got up my nerve to talk to him, he's playing his guitar out front, then a spider falls on him and darned if it didn't fall right into his crotch. He noticed and when I saw his eyes go wide like that, I felt like I should do something, I know how he feels about those things, and I…I swatted it, but hit, _it_. I touched his wang, Caroline. There's no recovery from that, except to throw him off track, so once I was sure the spider was gone, I told him I was here to ask you to the fundraiser. So please, Caroline? You've got to go with me."

"You're a fool. A darn fool. Why should I help a fool, Sur?"

"Because you love me?" Uncle Christian is very charming.

Auntie Caroline smiled at him. "I do. I'll help you, but you should tell him."

"No. Nuh-uh. I've got to recover from this, if there is recoverin'."

"Dallas is the sweetest man alive, he'll find it humorous, Chris. You don't have to 'recover' from it."

"Fine, you want me to admit it? I'll admit it. I'm chicken. I can't do it. 'Specially not now he's going on a date with that slimy, no good snake Kane Jasper. That cowboy can kiss my go to hell."

"Chris, we've got little ears here."

"Oh, sorry, bud. Didn't see you there."

He was completely distracted with his Uncle Dal blunder, didn't even notice me.

"What's your big plan after this blows over?"

"I haven't got the slightest, I'll figure something out later. You want me to take him for a little while?"

"Sure. Sammy's coming to get him in a little bit; I was just about to change his diaper for Mama."

"Uh…you mind doin' that before you give him to me?"

She whacked him for that. "Fine. But now you owe me twice."

I was good though and didn't tell anyone. I knew it was a secret, which I'm usually not good at keeping. Tell you the truth, I did forget all about that day until I was reminded last night, or I might have told Uncle Dal. Auntie Caroline was right, he's a fool for not telling Dal the truth. He's making a big mess.

"Caroline will be here if that's what you're really asking," Papa says. "I think Georgia's coming by too, so everyone grab out your ear plugs."

Whenever Daddy hasn't seen his eldest sister in a long time, they both scream like they've got houses on fire. We'll get another round of that when he sees Nana for the first time. "We're not that bad," Daddy says whacking Papa lightly. "Oh and Dean sweetheart, guess who else is coming?"

"Who?"

"Uncle Dallas."

Daddy rarely ever calls Uncle Dal, 'Dallas.' Daddy calls him all kinds of nicknames, I've even heard him pull out the one he used to use when Uncle Dal was little, like me, a few times, but never Dallas. I could even envision him calling Uncle Dally, 'Dallas' if he was put out with him, but he never is, least _I've_ never seen it. The only other person who catches Daddy's code is Papa. _Daddy knows_. He somehow fucking figured it out. I'm not surprised though, my daddy's one of the smartest men ever.

But their romance crap is not my most prominent concern, I've got other matters I need attended to. "Dally sings the Pooh Corner song, for me Daddy." I'm not asking.

"I'm sure he'll sing you the Pooh Corner song, _if_ you ask him nicely, Sur."

~GUW~

Soon as Aunt Georgia's in the door it begins. Daddy and her a screaming as they run toward each other. "I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays Sammy, c'mere big brother."

"Look at you. How's our newest one coming along?"

Auntie Georgia's having another baby; this will be her sixth.

They continue talking and squealing everything at each other, and I curl into Papa, who's got me now. "Is too loud, Papa."

He laughs at me. "I know, Kiddo. But it's a Colt thing we've got to let them do, it'll be over fast."

He sways me side to side and I close my eyes for a second with my hand over the ear that's not on Papa's shoulder. I'm a bit tired, probably from the long day of playing with Eddie and meeting Grampa's friends, but I don't want to go to bed early, so I quickly pop my eyes open. "Looks like we have a tired boy. Hey Half-Pint," Dal says taking me from Papa.

"Dally," I say excited and take out my soother. "Is not tired," I explain curling into him. "Is a long day of stuff."

"I see." He feels my cheek and my forehead and looks a bit concerned but doesn't say anything. I lay my head on his shoulder happy to have my uncle Dal back. "Youse is going to sing me the Pooh Corner song later, please?" I ask nicely like Daddy said to.

"Of course. I'll sing to yah all night, Half-Pint."

I feel a hand run through my hair, it's only half-familiar. "Aw, what happened to my ray of Dean sunshine?" I hear Auntie Georgia's voice say. She's so much like Daddy, it's crazy and I love her to death, but right now she's correct, her Dean sunshine is a bit burnt out.

"I think he's fighting a bug," Daddy says.

I am?

"Did you give him any of the Colt remedies yet?"

"On it. Was going to do that tonight. Actually, I should discuss it with you," Daddy says.

"Okay, we'll talk. I've got some new things you might want to try and…" her voice fades away as she and Daddy take off down the hallway. The two are like Captain and co-Captain, well they're not _like_ Captain and co-Captain, they are Captain and co-Captain of the S.S.Colt. I would say partners, but Auntie Georgia defers to Daddy far more than she does him 'cause he's the oldest. The two are kinda fun to watch actually. Papa lets them do their thing, unless Daddy 'goes too Colt.' I'm not really sure what that means, or if that's a real thing, but Papa seems to believe in it as much as he does the Bible.

All follow suit and head into the dining room behind Daddy and Auntie Georgia, but Uncle Dal stays behind in the quiet with me and starts humming the Pooh Corner song to me. "W-which one is that?" Uncle Christian stammers.

"Oh, hi Christian," Uncle Dal says like he didn't even notice Uncle Christian was there. He seems a bit cool for Uncle Dal. I mean, no one else would notice it, except maybe Daddy. "It's a Kenny Loggins song about Winnie-the-Pooh."

"Oh. Ain't that the guy who sings Danger Zone? I didn't know he sang Kids songs."

"Same one."

I want to face palm. Uncle Dal really likes kids. I mean, I guess we should always be who we are, like Daddy says, but I know he wants to make a good impression; that's not how to do it with Uncle Dal.

I think he knows he's fucked up too, because he scratches the back of his head and says, "that's good, uh, 'cause I like kid's songs. Remember that one I was singing earlier Dean? Oh my Darlin', oh my Darlin', oh my _DAR_ ling Clementine..."

Oh Uncle Christian, we need to fucking talk dude.

"Well yeah, I guess it's often sung for kids, but I don't like to sing that one to kids, personally. Haven't you listened to all the words? It's about a miner whose daughter tripped on a log and drowned and was quickly forgotten since the miner had another daughter. I mean, some think it's a parody song, but still."

Uncle Christian is so embarrassed, he pulls a Winchester, Winchester's can't stand to look stupid. "But they do sing it for kids, if I'd known you were so anal, I wouldn't have said nothin'. _Sor_ ry." His voice is just this side of mocking. He really shouldn't talk to Uncle Dal 'till I've coached him. "'Sides, I know other ones."

Uncle Dally shrugs. "It's just my opinion is all. I don't mean anythin' by it."

"Well and that's mine," Christian says firmly not knowing just how much like Papa and Grampa he sounds.

Having hung around Winchesters long enough, Uncle Dal can sense he's unwittingly offended Christian's Winchester pride. "What other songs do you know?"

I rack my brain, 'cause I don't think Uncle Christian knows very many kid songs.

He looks even more embarrassed. "It's okay if y'all don't know any, Christian. Dean and I can teach you," he says.

And I'm about to applaud, because this whole thing was a total disaster and there's the fucking save right there, but Winchester pride comes first. "I do know another. My grandmother used to sing it to us, something about rainbows and uh, bluebirds, I think."

Uncle Dally gets a twinkle in his eye. "Is it this one?" Uncle Dal busts out with his gorgeous southern voice and sings the whole first verse of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, a version that would even make Papa cry. Uncle Dal is very careful to look at me the whole time, but Uncle Christian is openly staring at Dally in awe.

I'm sure he's heard Uncle Dal sing plenty, but he still says, stunned, "wow, Dallas. You have a real nice voice."

I think I should prompt him to ask Dally to the fundraiser, but I'm tired again, so I put my head on Uncle Dal's shoulder. "Aw, I better get this cowboy some supper before he passes out on us."

"Yeah, um. Catch you later?"

"You are a strange one, Christian Winchester. I am staying for dinner. Remember?" he says like Christian is a real dumb ass and I have to agree, he is, at least right now he is. Uncle Christian is actually a real smart guy and he's a helluva lot smoother at these kinds of things than he is right now. He must really like Uncle Dal.

"Yeah, I knew that. Um, I'm gonna go find Caroline and say hello."

"Right. Caroline. You do that, I'll take care of him."

Uncle Christian doesn't see it, but Uncle Dal stares after him when he walks away. Uncle Dal is fucking checking him out and I'm pretty sure he's looking at his ass. "He can be a real apple, sometimes Dean," he says. Apple is Daddy and Dally's word for asshole or sometimes just ass. They think I don't know. "But Aunt Caroline is a lucky girl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pooh Corner By Kenny Loggins
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQhCNOV5Gnk
> 
> P.S. You might get to see Eddie in WW. He'll be older than Dean, remember...Dean has managed to make a few friends along the way, but not all are prominent to the WW storyline, so you'll meet'em in other stories perhaps.


	7. There Were Four in the Bed and the Little Dean Said...(2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)This is a late birthday present for Jysmo!! Happy Birthday to her! She is a lovely and talented writer with many works and some up the same alley as this one (same kindsa stuff), so if you haven't checked out her stuff, you should ;-)
> 
> 2)The remedies Sam uses are meant to be 1/2fact, 1/2 fiction, 200% over the top!! It's Sam after all. Don't take'em too seriously, K?
> 
> 3)Many people seem to like the Dal/Christian Storyline. I've had them planned for awhile, but it was seriously meant to be just a background thing. However, as happens in my head, their story has EXPLODED. So uh, I hope you like them 'cause they're in this chapter lots. 
> 
> Still plenty of Little Dean action though!

Dean's a cranky-fuss pot through dinner. He doesn't want potatoes, he doesn't want carrots, he doesn't want anything except to sit in Daddy's lap and pout. Thank god for Auntie Georgia. "Whoa," she says feeling her belly. Dean looks at her. "Oh Dean, can you help me out?"

He's still pouting, but he nods. She takes his hand and puts it on her belly. "How about you feel out for the baby for me and when he kicks, you tell him big cousin Dean's here and you'll take care of him?"

"Don't have to eat that stuff?"

"Nope," she says with a big smile. "You can eat another day, you've got an important job. Every Colt can help out, big or small."

I think Dean likes the sound of helping someone out, like he helped Edwin today. "But I'm Dean 'Chester."

She smoothes her hand over his cheek. "Of course you are Sugar, but you're a Colt too. I can tell."

"Okay, Dean can watch him. He's gonna come out soon?"

"Not too soon, maybe around Halloween."

"Dean likes Halloween," he tells her with one hand on her belly as she starts eating again.

"You do?"

"Yep. Was Tigger one time."

He remembers that, because we still talk about it. He continues talking to his auntie who is quite fascinating. She's a lot of fun and good with kids. We're a lot alike, so Dean's probably soothed by that. I let him chat on with her as I eat my food around him, he occasionally pets her belly and tells his cousin, "s'okay. Big cousin Dean's here." It's the cutest thing.

Cas, knowing Dean isn't a hundred percent, is watching his every move, ultra worried about him. I'm dreading having to tell Michael, on top of having to fight with him over Dean's car. Seriously. I want to chicken-out and get Cas to do it, but Cas has already got a lot going on. I can sense there's something he's working himself up to tell me; most likely about his parents; most likely something I won't like.

And so it begins. We love visiting 'home,' but we also love going home by the end. The Colts usually have their share of problems going on too.

"…and so I talked him right into a big fat account with Winchester. Bam! Two million dollars a year. Just like that," Christian's saying to Caroline, but he keeps looking at Dally out of the corner of his eye—I think he's trying to impress him. It's no surprise that Dally's not impressed. Just the opposite actually.

"That's not all you do though, take money from dumb business execs," Caroline says trying to help him out.

"Sure it is," Christian teases.

"Why, just last Christmas he had one hundred baskets made up of toys and food, and donated them to a local charity. When he found out they needed volunteers, he dressed up like Santa and delivered them himself."

Christian is beet red. "Caroline!" he says in this thick accent.

"Well you did," she shrugs not sorry. That's what you get for involving a Colt in your love life Winchester. It's pretty clear to me that she knows and has been helping him for who knows how long now. They seem like they've become good friends.

"I tell you, it's the last time; ended up with egg on my face more than once. As it turns out, people aren't real grateful to have you showin' up at their door with stuff. I felt like a darn fool."

Dally speaks up. "It's just because they're embarrassed they can't provide those things for their families themselves Chris, they probably do appreciate the gesture; it's just hard to say it sometimes. I think what you did was real nice."

Christian's face is red for a different reason now and he's sitting up just a bit straighter, much like Clyde does after a round of praise from Claire. Not to mention, the way Dally called him Chris seems almost affectionate.

"It was real nice, wasn't it Clyde?" Claire says in a way only she can to prompt Clyde into doing something he wasn't planning on doing.

"I say, well I say it was a very nice thing indeed and your mother and I are proud, son."

The object of all our affections looks like he wants to hide under a rock. Cas and I have long ago decided that he would much rather be the object of negative attentions than positive, because he does do some very good things he'd rather not be recognized for, hence his attempt to downplay them and not say anything. He must have pissed Caroline off somehow for her to out him like that.

But if he wants in with Dally, that's the way to do it. Dally loves kids—he wants a pile of them himself—naturally anything Christian could do regarding children would get him brownie points with Dal.

"S'okay, baby," I hear Dean say quietly, petting Georgia's tummy for probably the sixth time. "Cousin Dean's here."

I kiss my sweet boy on the top of his head and I'm reminded of something I forgot to do earlier. "You're a real good helper, baby boy."

He smiles up at me.

"I'm also real proud of the way you helped Eddie," I say using the nic Dean gave him.

"Thank-you, Daddy." He glances over at Cas. "Did, did, did you tell Papa what a good boy I am?"

"Do you want to tell him yourself?"

He looks up at Auntie Georgia, not wanting to leave his post. "I think the baby's all good now Mr. Deanshine and I thank-you. But maybe you can keep an eye out? Just in case I need you another time?"

"Will, Auntie," he says. He's not too confident saying Georgia's name yet, so sometimes he skips it.

I lift our boy under his armpits and pass him over to his papa. "Well hello, Cowboy," Cas says. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Dean's shy all of a sudden and he looks up to me for some confidence—I know just how he feels, Papa's blue eyes are intense sometimes. "Go'on. Tell your papa, sweetheart."

"Dean…Dean helped Eddie today, into Dean's car. And Dean drives slow and real careful, like Papa says to," he explains still all shy. "Even though Tigger still wants Dean to go fast."

Cas gives me a quick glance above Dean's head and we conduct one of our silent conversations. As much as I'm teaching Dean, I'm teaching Cas too. He's learning to praise Dean for his little boy feats. It might sound strange to you that Cas would forget such a thing, since he knows exactly when to praise me, but it's both different and the same with kids and Cas is a bit clueless with some of those times. This one's pretty straightforward to him, but he wants to make sure he gets it exactly right because he can sense the importance.

"You did? Wow. I'm so proud of my Dean. So proud. Everybody…everybody," Cas says tinking his wine glass with his fork. "Today my son graciously helped his new friend and he's shown at just the age of three he can be the example of responsibility, despite the negative influences from a certain _Panthera Tigris_ ," Cas nods to Tigger who is sitting by Dean's almost untouched plate, 'eating' for Dean.

Christian is immensely grateful the attention is away from him. Dean curls into Cas, but he loves when everyone makes a big fuss over him. If he was feeling better, he might be hamming it up.

Clyde is the first one to speak up. "I am not surprised. Dean is the best Winchester I've ever seen, this is just the beginning of great things from our special Cowboy."

"Here, here," we all say toasting to Dean. No one minds that Dean is Grampa's favorite Winchester and all around favorite person. Not even Claire since I think Dean's hers too.

Once everyone goes back to eating, our little boy is looking up at his papa with complete and utter adoration. "Love you, Papa," he says. Papa is Dean's hero and I don't mind a lick.

Now it's Cas's turn to sit up straighter. "Not near as much as I love you, Angel."

As we near the end of our meal, I can see poor Dean's not going to make it. "Here Cassy, I'm all finished. Why don't I take him up to the bath?" I also want to give him some of my special Colt remedies, including some of the things I discussed with Georgia.

"Allow me, Baby. Have some dessert, then come join us; you can fix him all up before bed. Father, may I be excused? This little one ain't gonna make it to dessert."

"You may, son."

He gives me a chaste kiss on the lips and I pass them Tigger, Dean doesn't even complain at being carted off.

"So who's up for dessert?" Claire asks.

She gets two big hell yeses from Clyde and Christian. The Winchester's aren't as strict about swearing—it's the strangest thing. They never do around Dean (least they try not to, but like Cas they fudge up every now and then) and they do agree children shouldn't swear, but once you reach a certain age in the Winchester house, you're afforded more freedoms and that's one of them.

The Colts at the table also accept her offer, but they do so in a way Mama and Daddy would approve of.

I'm a bit distracted thinking of my poor little boy, but I know Cas is taking good care of him. Then something else distracts me. All night I've noticed a bunch of little things Christian's been doing to get Dally's attention—all of the wrong things, mind, but still things. Dally's not paid any attention to him in the least, with the exception of the Christian is Santa Claus story.

But through dessert, Christian is horsing around with Caroline. It does come off as a little flirtatious, and only because I know better, do I recognize that it's simply comfort and even now, Christian is showing off for Dally, too gosh darn nervous to just talk to the guy directly. He's trying to show Dal how much fun he is _through_ Caroline.

Dally's so cool, so casual about the way he does it, never giving himself away, but I raised that boy, so I'm able to catch just how many times he glances at Christian and bites his lip. I don't think I've ever seen it before, because jealousy just isn't Dal, but he _is_ jealous. I can't fudging believe it. But I'm cheering inside. I want someone good for Dal, and while I know there are particular idiosyncrasies that come along with owning a Winchester, I know there's no better stock to choose from. Christian may be obnoxious and even a real apple at times, but he's a good sort.

"Look it you, Caroline, you got ice cream in your hair. I've never seen a prettier girl eat so messy in all my life," he says brushing a hand through her hair. He does have a point, Caroline really ought to tie her hair back when she eats like Georgia does, but I want to bang my head against a wall. It looks like he's flirting the pants off of her.

"Hush, you." Caroline gives him a dirty look, but Christian's too charming to be mad at. As much as Clyde does scold him, Christian gets away with far more than Cas ever would.

"You should tie your hair back, baby girl," Georgia voices my thoughts, softly. "When she was a little girl I used to have to undress her so she could eat and not ruin her clothes," my sister continues, teasing.

"All right, all right, Caroline's tying her hair back. But you know, it didn't stop the handsomest boy in all the county from asking me to the fundraiser this year." She isn't offended. This is our way, Colts tease each other non-stop, it's your own job in our family to stick up for yourself, or pick who you want to side with at the risk of getting teased yourself.

"You going with Christian again?" Dally says.

"Why no. But it's real interestin' you think he's the handsomest boy in the County, Sur," she says with her eyes glowing. You should never, never give a Colt ammo like that, they can't help themselves.

Dally blushes. "I just thought because—"

Caroline takes pity on her older brother. "You thought because we went last year I'd honor this lug with my hand a second year in a row? Nuh-uh, no sir. I'm going with Brady this year. Besides, I'm pretty sure, Christian mentioned he's got his eye on someone else."

"Caroline," Christian says. It's a good thing for her they aren't dating, he'd probably spank her for that. Caroline gives him eyes that say they're even now for his teasing and whatever else went on between them and not to mess with her thank-you very much. The message is received.

"I remember the first time Clyde asked me to the fundraiser for our church where we grew up, fell in love with him that day I did. He was the most handsome boy in all our County," she says falling in love with Clyde again. Now it's Clyde's turn to sit up straight.

"And why would you be surprised? Claire was and is the prettiest thing I ever did see."

Claire giggles.

For all his hard-nosed ways, Clyde sure does love Claire and his family. I'm included in that—I know he loves me too, even though he's hard on me. He's just as hard on Cas; it's because of Cas's important role in this family.

"Ain't that guy's name, Brady, Brady, Caroline?" Dal says laughing.

"Is," she laughs too. "I said handsomest, not best named. I tease him about that mercilessly."

Now it's my turn to pipe in. "Weren't you datin' a guy name Axl Grease or something, Dal?"

It was a great laugh between Cas, Dal and I at home, because what a crazy name. "Axl Swift," he smiles fondly. "It was only a couple dates."

Christian is paying rapt attention; looking surprised that Dally dates at all. "Only a couple?" Christian can't help himself asking.

"He's the drummer in our band and we uh, let's just say it was intense between us, so we're better off friends, for the good of the band."

"That's good," Christian quickly realizes what he's said. "That you can be friends I mean."

"Oh yeah. I still go to all his hockey games, he plays for our college team and he's real good. He's basically drafted, but his parents want him to finish the degree he started."

"Are we sure he's that good? Why does he even need the degree if he's got a NHL career ahead of him? Those cowboys make loads of dough," Christian scoffs clearly wanting to make his obvious competition, not sound so great, because from the description he gave, Axl sounds like a prize. Dally was euphemizing with the term 'intense,' Axl is fudging wild, though he is very into Dally. Thank God Dally ended that one.

"Your NHL career can be ended at any time, it only takes one injury," Dally points out.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Actually, Sammy," Dal says. "Been meaning to ask you if I can take Dean to one. I was going to make that one of my birthday gifts to him this year, since he's just old enough."

"I've just got to run it by Cas, but I don't think that's a problem."

"You want to take Dean to something dangerous?" Christian says. I think he's a bit pissed hearing all about the amazing Axl Swift, even if he shouldn't be. That guy's got nothing on him. Axl may be the next big hockey star, and like music just as much as Dal does, but there are other reasons he didn't want anything serious with Axl. Dally's not a multiple partners kind of guy. He wants someone he can be exclusive with. Axl, not so much. Dally knew he'd end up being unfaithful and he does have strong feelings for Axl, he didn't want to end up with that kind of heartbreak, since it would have broken their band apart as well. They were just dating, not exclusive at the time, so Dally broke it off before they got too far. He's happy having him as just a friend and well, I think casual sex.

"I'm not asking him to play, Christian."

And thank God for that. Hockey is dangerous…the Michael I'd have to deal with alone, never mind my own feelings on the subject.

"People get hit in the head with pucks all the time."

Speaking of, he's sounding a bit Michael like at the moment. But thankfully they leave it at that. Dally knows better than to engage in such an argument with a Winchester. It'll get heated and Dal would never do that at Clyde and Claire's dinner table—just because Christian would…

Since dessert is over, I ask to be excused as well. As much as I am enjoying their antics, I've got a little boy to take care of.

~GUW~

We only make it to the stairs before Dean's tears start. "Papa is going to spank Dean 'Chester?"

"Spank Dean? Why would I do that?"

"Dean doesn't eat his vegetables. Papa says eat your vegetables else get spanked Dean 'Chester," he explains starting to cry.

We arrive at the bathroom; I sit him down on the counter. "Angel. Angel? Calm down for Papa, okay? There's no spankings for Dean 'Chester today."

"There's not? But, Dean doesn't even have dessert."

I can see why he'd be confused; we do have pretty strict rules. Dean's a very good eater, unless it's green or hell, any vegetable and he really likes dessert, you do the math. "You're right. The rule is you have to eat your vegetables or no dessert and usually when Dean's misbehaved at the dinner table, Papa would spank him, but you're not feeling well. That's why you didn't eat and we can't give you dessert today; the sugar's not good for your tummy."

"Oh," he says sniffling. I wipe his tears for him.

"Remember Papa made the speech about how proud he is of his Dean 'Chester?"

He smiles brightly beyond his tired face. "Oh yeah, I forgotted for a second. Papa?"

"Yes, my sweet boy?"

"Dean doesn't feel good."

"I know. The bath will make you feel better. You want bubbles? I think Gramma keeps some here just for you."

"Please Papa."

I remove his shirt, shorts and diaper as the water runs and the bubbles start to sprout in the water, then I place him gently into the tub. I remove my clothes too, deciding it best to climb in with him, since he's not well. It'll be easier for both of us. "Papa has a bath too?"

"Yep. That okay?"

"Yep," he mimics. Even if his personality is growing to be a lot more like Sam's, I know now that Dean looks up to me and tries to be like me. I'm the luckiest Papa in the world.

I set to work washing his hair with the luke warm water and he picks up a little boat only half interested. It's flipping hot, the water will cool him and make him feel better. "In a cavern, in a canyon, excavatin' for a mine, dwelt a miner forty niner and his daughter clementine. Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine. You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry Clementine."

Damn Christian for putting that song in my head.

"Isn't a good song for kids, Papa," Dean informs me.

"It's not? How come?"

"Dunno. Uncle Dally says so."

He's still absentmindedly playing with his boat as I pour water over his head careful to shield his eyes, then I apply the shampoo. I'm intrigued. "When did Uncle Dallas say that?"

"Before, to Uncle Christian. He likes that song too. Is that 'cause you're brothers?" he says perking up a bit at his discovery.

I'm not surprised the two have differing opinions, they don't talk often and when they do, they bicker. As much as Dallas bickers anyway; Christian can carry out an argument 'till the end of time if you let him, Dallas usually just cuts out, uninterested. Though I've got to say, I've rarely heard him bicker with anyone save Christian. Christian tends to bring that out in people.

"Well our Grandmother did teach it to us, so I guess you could say it's 'cause we're brothers. Do you wish you had a brother, or sister?"

"Yuck. No way, Papa."

I laugh. "Why not?"

"Dean 'Chesters don't share Papa."

Once again, Dean's picked up more than we give him credit for; that's a Winchester family motto, but it's…uh, usually in reference to lovers. It sounds like Dean's overheard me saying it to Sam and given it his own meaning and he's 'Deanized' it, like Sam does with everything.

"They don't? But I thought you were learning how to share your toys?"

"Dean does, because Papa and Daddy says so, but don't mean my toys. Youse is my papa and Daddy is my daddy and no one else's."

"I see."

"Uh-huh. That's the rule, or Dean will get Grampa to spank you."

This is one of those times I want to crack up laughing at him, but I know he's dead serious; laughing at him will insult his tiny Winchester pride. "Papa will remember Dean's rule. I'm not the Papa to any other little boys."

"Or girls."

"Or girls," I agree.

I still hum the stupid Clementine song even though it's apparently on Dallas's no sing for kids list. I'm just finishing washing Dean when Sam comes in. "A bath party? How come Daddy wasn't invited?"

Soon as Dean sets eyes on Daddy, the water works start. "Daddee, Dean doesn't feel good."

"I know, c'mere Dean bean," Sam says with a towel outstretched, I pass Dean over. He places Dean down on the floor so he can dry him off.

"Tigger isn't good too, Daddy."

"What's wrong with Tigger?" Sam says.

"Just icky."

I wouldn't find that helpful, but Sam knows just what to do. "Let's go get a diaper and jammies, sweetheart. Then Daddy will do some things to help his Dean bean."

"Gotta go to bed, Daddy?"

"You really should, but how about Daddy rocks you downstairs while Uncle Dal sings some songs?"

"Thank-you, Daddy."

I get out of the bath and while Sam is very much focused on our little boy, he can't help but give my ass a quick peek. He's dealt with many a sick babe, so he's a lot calmer than I am dealing with a sick Dean. I tend to lose my shit. I need Sam for this stuff. If he didn't check me out, then I'd be really worried. Sadly, Sam and I won't get to have sex for a while. I grab a towel and begin drying myself off.

"An', an', an' Dean sleeps inna big bed with Daddy and Papa?"

"That okay, Papa?"

And no sleep for a while either. "Of course, Angel."

~GUW~

Fuck this shit.

I want to stay up and party with everyone else, I don't care how fucking sick I am, which isn't really, I'm just tired. It's Tigger that's in the real pain. He's all icky and he just admitted to me his tummy feels gross—he's fucking stoic, but also a big baby when he's sick. When I tried to pet him, he told me to fuck off, trying to be the Mr. Though Guy. I on the other hand like cuddling with my daddy. It makes him feel good to take care of me when I'm sick. What I could do without are his insane 'Colt Remedies.'

"Here Dean Bean. Daddy needs you to drink this."

"Don't want to Daddy." It looks like horseshit. It's all yellowy orange and smells like ginger.

"Please, sweetheart. It will make you feel better, don't you want to be better for your birthday party?"

I do, but that seems far away. This is right now and I don't want to fucking do it. "No."

"Dean. Are you supposed to tell your daddy no?" Papa says.

"Nooo, but Papa, it looks yucky," I whine.

"You'll live. Mind your daddy please."

It's two against fucking one. I take it and drink it and it's actually not too bad. I think there's some honey in it and it tastes lemony. It's in a big boy glass, so Daddy has to help me.

"Thank-you my babe," Daddy says.

There's not as much in the second glass and it looks like water, but it smells strongly of something I don't recognize. Daddy helps me again so I don't spill. "Yech!" I say coughing. "That one is burny."

"I know Sugar. It's Oil of Oregano. It's going to kill all the bugs."

I did not like that stuff, but I do like the sound of killing bugs.

I'm naked, in just a diaper. Daddy's able to rub some kind of ointment, pastey-type stuff on me. "Auntie Georgia mixed this up for you special," he says as he rubs it on. It smells to high heaven, but it's not exactly a bad smell. I don't like having it on me though, it feels the same as putting on sunscreen, ick! I tell him so. "This is ick, Daddy. Dean doesn't like it."

"I know. Sorry baby, but Daddy doesn't want you to get all the way sick," he says as he starts wrapping bandages around my torso.

"How come I hasta have those?"

"Because you have to wear this for the nighttime and we don't want your jammies to get icky sticky."

Once my chest is wrapped like a fucking mummy, he dresses me in a light pair of pajamas. Then he lights some fucking branch, herb looking thing and traces it all around my body in a particular pattern. I don't even wanna know, so I don't ask, I'm too fucking tired.

"Just one more thing, pumpkin butter."

He sits me on their bed and he takes a spoon and traces some kind of pattern on the bottoms of my feet, never touching my feet with the spoon.

"Okay, all done. Thanks for being my good boy. Let's go down and have song time."

I hold my arms out for him, he lifts me to him and pops my soother in for me and he remembers to bring Tigger.

When we get downstairs, Gramma hands him a bottle. "I put it in this, thought it would be easier for him."

"Thanks, Mother. That'll be fine."

"What's that Gramma?"

"That's Gramma's homemade soup broth—I always keep some on hand in the freezer. I warmed that up just for you," she says proudly.

I'm not exactly pleased about the bottle, but I'm too tired to pitch a fit, so I just take the thing from her. "Thank-you Gramma," I say after I've taken my soother out and hand it to Daddy.

"You're welcome, Doll."

Daddy sits with me in the rocking chair they've got downstairs and I drink the broth, it's actually pretty fuking delicious.

Dally's got his guitar out and he's all ready to sing for me. Gramma, Grampa, Auntie Georgia, Auntie Caroline, Papa and Uncle Christian are all here too, but it's still my own private concert for one.

"So, half-pint, what'll it be?"

Before I can answer, Papa asks, "Dean tells me the Clementine song isn't for kids. Our Grandmother used to sing that for us all the time. You mind explaining Dallas?"

"Dallas is an anal so and so, Castiel. It was good enough for Gran to sing to us, but our minds have clearly been poisoned," Uncle Christian offers for him. "Don't pay him any mind." He sounds a bit ticked off. I heard him say a similar thing earlier, but it was a lot more playful, now he's just being a dick to my uncle Dal. If I were feeling better I'd give him a piece of my mind.

"No need to be insultin', I told you I didn't mean anything by it. Do you even know all the words?"

 _You tell him Uncle Dal_! I love Uncle Christian, but he's an ass right now. What happened while I was gone?

"In a cavern, in a canyon—"

"Past the first verse?"

Uncle Christian doesn't say anything, but Papa saves him. "I remember it Dallas, I'll sing you play and sort this out once and for all. I always thought it was a joke song."

"Yeah," Uncle Christian agrees, except I don't really think he knows.

"Well it might well be, but," Dally sighs. "You mind Sammy?"

"I don't even think Dean's paying much attention. He's just waiting for his Pooh song."

Open. Book. To Daddy anyway.

"Can I humor these silly boys, half-pint?"

I nod sucking back my broth as Daddy rocks me. I think they're funny fighting over a silly song.

"Let's skip straight to the second verse, brother Cas."

"Soft she was and like a fairy and her shoes were number nine. Herring boxes without topses were the shoes for Clementine."

"What's wrong with that? It's funny. Kids laugh at that stuff, don't you Dean?" Uncle Christian says.

I smile at him but don't answer.

"I'll give you that, which is one of the reasons it's thought to be a parody song, but listen to the next bit, mind if I take over Cas?"

"Take it away Dallas."

"She drove ducklin's to the water, every mornin' just at nine, hit her foot against a splitter, fell into the foaming brine," Dal sings. "Then it goes: Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles soft and fine, alas for him he was no swimmer, so he lost his Clementine."

He doesn't bother with the oh my darlings. "See? A song about a kid drowing. That's all I'm saying. It's an old song, they sang stuff like that in the older generations, I'm not judging, or saying it's 'poison,' it's just not one I feel comfortable singing to kids, I don't usually mind with Dean so much, he's a bit different than other kids in some ways. So if you want, sing it. Sing it for Dean. You're right, Dean will probably laugh at it," Dally's mildly irritated. Speaking of things that make Dean laugh, that would if I was feeling better—Uncle Dal doesn't let just anyone get under his skin.

"I'm fine," Uncle Christian snaps at him.

"What about Somewhere Over the—" Papa starts to say.

"No!" Uncle Dally and Uncle Christian say at the same time, both glaring at the other.

Everyone's looking at them funny, not really sure what's going on and I for one am tired of their bickering. I pull the bottle out of my mouth. "Dean waits a long, long time, Uncle Dally…please?"

"S-sorry half-pint. Here you go." 

Finally. _Finally_ , I get Pooh Corner. Jesus Christ.

It doesn't matter what Uncle Dally sings, no one can take their eyes off of him. We can all sing in our family. Daddy and Papa are pretty fucking good, like everyone else I've heard so far, but no one quite compares to Dally.

"…I swear that old bear whispered boy, welcome home. Believe me if you can…"

As Uncle Dal gets to the end of the song I hear sniffling. I pull the bottle out. "Youse is cryin' Daddy?"

"A little sweetheart," he says wiping his eyes.

"Why?"

"'Cause you're such a big boy. You're going to grow up and forget all about Daddy one day."

"Never, ever," I say. "Youse is silly Daddy."

"Maybe."

"How was that half-pint?"

"Good, thanks Dally."

"You're welcome! What next?"

I'm not sure what I want next, but Uncle Christian stands up, we all think he's leaving, but he shocks us all. "I thought of another one I know. May I borrow your guitar, Dallas?"

Everyone's fucking shocked.

Dally pulls the guitar out of his reach. "You know how to play the guitar? I've never seen you play."

"That's because I've never played for anyone before…I uh…I just learned in recent times. Was a girl I wanted to impress."

"Oh Christian that's lovely," Gramma says.

"If you learned how to play, where's your guitar?" Uncle Dal is still pretty skeptical.

"I'm not a singing circus like you are, I don't bring it with me wherever I go."

"It's pretty personal asking a man to use his guitar."

Uncle Christian sighs. "Right. I'm sorry." He moves to sit back down, but Uncle Dally stops him.

"But that is somethin' I've got to see. Play us a tune, Winchester," Dally says more like Dally than he's been all night.

Christian accepts the guitar and we're all waiting to see just what the fuck he'll play. _If_ he can play. Oh god, I'm nervous for him now. I hope he doesn't fuck this up, hope it's not just Winchester pride pushing him into this. "I admit it, I don't know too many kid songs and I don't even know if this qualifies, my instructor is Irish and made me learn it. I really only remember the first verse. Woo!" he says to get rid of nerves, because he's nervous as fuck. "Here goes."

"Over in Killarney, many years ago, my Mother sang a song to me in tunes so sweet and low. Just a simple ditty, in her good 'ould Irish way. And I'd give half the world if she could sing the song to me this day. Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra! Too-ra-loo-ra-li! Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra! That's an Irish lullaby."

Holy fuck. He can sing and he can play the guitar, he's as good as Papa. He might not be Uncle Dal, but as I've already said, no one is; he is fucking amazing. Everyone's staring at Uncle Christian, including Uncle Dally, whose jaw is on the floor. "That was, that was real good, Chris. C-can you play anythin' else?"

"I'm out for kids songs," he comes clean. "But I know a lot of Garth Brooks and uh, Green Day."

"Oh god, I can't decide which I want first…okay, no I do. Good Riddance; Green Day," Dal says.

And there you have it folks, the end of the Dean concert, normally I wouldn't care what they wanted, and demand I get my songs, but I really want them to stop bickering and they're both smiling really wide, so I don't say anything. Daddy and Auntie Caroline are smiling really big too.

"Wow, you really do have a Billie Joe Armstrong quality to your voice," Uncle Dal comments after he finishes the song. "But I could see you doing Garth too, how about River?" Music is Dally candy, he'll be at this a while, but they're having so much fun no one interrupts them, singing along to the parts they know—Grampa and Gramma know how to carry a tune too, of course.

Uncle Dal's not near finished after the next song. "Wow. That was some good Garth Brooks. Okay if you can do that, you can do James Taylor," Uncle Dal insists.

"I don't know James Taylor, I mean I know his songs, but I've never played him."

"Okay, wait here. Don't move. Let me go get my other guitar."

"You bring two guitars around with you?"

"I got three Cowboy," he says with his big sunshiny, Uncle Dal smile.

He's back in a flash and he starts off the song, "just follow me. Yeah, there, that's it. D, A then G…nice. There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range."

Uncle Christian sings the next line. "His horse and his cattle are his only companions…"

They trade song ideas back and forth, and I finally get sleepy, so I'm sorry, I don't see what happens next. "Here, Sam. Let me put him in bed."

Papa takes me, but I must have bugs in me, 'cause I can't keep my eyes open. They're making me tired. Dean's…out.

~GUW~

Everyone will probably still be here awhile and I should visit with them, but I want to get calling Michael out of the way, so I slip off to a quiet place near the kitchen with my cell. Ugh. I really don't want to call him, I made him that stupid promise and now I've got to tell him Dean might be sick. I'm sitting procrastinating when I hear two voices from _in_ the kitchen: Caroline and Christian. It sounds like they're getting something to drink.

"So you gonna ask him? That was pretty romantic out there, Christian. Even I was falling for you."

"Stop teasin' me."

"Not likely, I'm a Colt it's what we do."

"Well I'm not askin' him."

"What are you using to talk yourself out of it now?"

"I like him too much."

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard."

"He leaves in under four weeks, I'm not starting something that's just gonna break my heart."

"I thought you fly out to the California office all the time?"

"Not all the time, only sometimes."

"What about Skype and such?"

"It'll never work."

"Not with an attitude like that it won't."

"I'm not doing it. OW! Caroline! Let go of my ear."

He seriously shouldn't mess with Caroline, she's a nice mix of Georgia and Lulu, though I guess Lulu had to have gotten it from her.

"At least take him to the god damned fundraiser, Christian Winchester."

I'd like to tell her, she's got a mouth too pretty to say those words—I'd say the same thing to Dean if I ever heard him talking like that—but I want to keep my location a secret. I wasn't spying on purpose, but I am spying now.

"Okay! Just let go 'a my ear. Jeez Louise."

She must have let go his ear. "Just let me work up my nerve. I'm not askin' him tonight, but I will."

"Fine. We'd better get back out there before they think we're doing other things. They already think I'm in love with you."

"Not now, you told them about Brady Brady. Seriously, that guy, Caroline?"

"He's a nice guy big brother Christian."

"Well if he hurts you, I'll fuck him up."

She whacks him. "You watch your mouth. Here, take this to Dally, he wanted a beer."

Their voices fade away and I'm fudging excited. I can't wait to tell Cas. Okay, I'm going to do this. I'm going to call Michael, but suddenly there's a hand on my shoulder. "I don't think so, Sam. I'm going to call Michael."

"Cas? How's Dean?"

"Out like a light. He's in our bed, like he wanted. I figured he'd just come in, in the middle of the night anyway."

"You look tired, Cassy. How about you let me call him?"

"Didn't I tell you I was?"

"You didn't."

He shakes his head at himself. "Oh, well I meant to."

"Cassy—"

"I'm not asking, Sam and I've got limited patience right now, will you please just hand me the phone?"

I give it to him. I hate arguing with him. "Hello, Michael."

"Mr. Winchester, sir. Is your husband about?"

"He is here, but you and I are talking. I have approved Dean's usage of the gift he received from my parents. He has been responsible, but should he prove irresponsible I will rescind my approval and that's the last I want to hear of it. I'd better not find you've talked to Sam about it again, or I will be seriously displeased."

"Yes, sir," is all Michael can really say to that and I've got to say, I'm pretty fudging relieved. Thank God for my husband.

"Good. Dean is not feeling well. _We_ have it under control. I don't want you giving Sam a hard time over that either. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. This concludes our business. I will pass you over to him. Goodnight Michael."

He hands the phone to me, but before he relinquishes it, he says, "you have ten minutes. Then you come out to visit with us."

"Yes, Cassy."

He kisses my forehead and he's gone.

"That was unfair," Michael says.

"Not my fault. Winchester law."

"Do you know I've had Tom buy out the County in Pine-Sol?"

"I'm sorry, Michael. I really am."

"Well I'm not allowed to talk to you about anything I want to, so I might as well go and start on the tenth round."

"Do you want to know what Dean did today? I can give you a play by play."

"Yes, sir. I'd like that very much. I…I miss him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: 
> 
> Good Riddance; Green Day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnQ8N1KacJc
> 
> River; Garth Brooks: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FuO3FhA3PWc (Sorry, only true Garth one I could find. He's really good at staying off youtube)
> 
> Sweet Baby James; James Taylor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSkaEP2ZqbY


	8. The One Where Dean has the Little Man Cold (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)This is what I've decided will work best in the telling of this story: I think many of you like the Dally/Chris storyline anyway, but in case some don't, I've labelled the parts at the beginning concerning JUST them. You can skip past those parts if you don't want to read them, you won't miss any plot points HOWEVER, you will miss getting an outside look at our little family, which I think is fun. You can see how others view Cas, Sam and Dean. Dean and other regular cast members will appear in some Chris/Dally POV scenes too. This story will still be MAJORILY about Cas, Sam and Dean after all. 
> 
> 2) Sick!Dean: As the title implies, this chapter has the long awaited sick Dean. Y'all are a bunch of sadists! I'm kidding, I understand. He's pretty cute all sick. But I think you'll be surprised at just how relaxed Sam is about it. I'm not sure it came across enough in my writing as to why, so just wanted to mention that Sam has dealt with like, a billion kid-colds. He IS concerned for Dean and feels terrible he's sick, but in his mind, he knows just what to do for a cold. He might be more stressed if it were something more serious. But let's face it, annoying as they are, a cold is pretty low risk on the die-factor.

Dally and Chris

"Um, your beer." It's another excuse for me to look into those Colt-blue eyes. Dally doesn't have to feel the nervous tension I feel, he's just so _cool_ and I know that's rich coming from me.

He takes the beer. Dallas's eyes always look like they're inside his brain solving world peace or something else amazing. He's looking at me and I feel like I should be saying something to him, but for the life of me I can't think of anything, so I take a long pull of my beer. This would probably be the most opportune time to ask him what he's doing while he's here, lead that casually into hanging out sometime, it's what I would have done if he were anyone else—I'm real good at that. Instead I give him a half stupid nod and hide with my brother who looks zonked. Fuck. Dean sure is cute, but I guess kids take it out of you. I should offer to babysit for them. 

He's got his arms wrapped around Sam—those two. Castiel is one lucky son of a bitch, Sam worships him and it's plain. Even the way he leans into him speaks of deep trust and devotion. He doesn't look nearly as ragged, but I guess helping raise all those kids, it's no wonder Sam's a lot more relaxed about, well, everything. He's a master at easing tension; I can see him doing that to my brother right now. I wish I had someone to do that for me; my life would be a whole lot easier. "You look about ready to fall over," I tell Castiel.

"No. I've got this cowboy to hold me up. Sam's tall enough to be considered a leaning post."

"We're not likely to get much sleep Cassy, maybe we should call it a night," Sam's careful to make it sound like a suggestion in every way. My brother's never taken kindly to orders; he's just like our father, but Sam's practiced at dealing with Castiel; getting him to do things no one else can.

Castiel runs a gentle hand through Sam's hair. "One more drink, Baby. Then we'll say goodnight."

Caroline comes over to join us, she's up to something, still wanting me to 'make a move' with Dallas. "So Sammy, when you comin' to see Mama and Daddy?"

"Well…I'd say tomorrow, but I can't leave Dean, I don't know how he's going to feel."

"Poor baby. Well, don't you worry, we've got everything covered for Dean's birthday party, though…well it's okay, nevermind."

I'm thoroughly suspicious of the thick southern belle she's laying on for them.

"What is it Caroline? Need something baby girl?" Sam says.

"Well I wanted to set up a puppet booth for the kids, I sure could use someone to build it for me. I'm just plain dumb when it comes to tools."

"That can't be true," Castiel says.

"No. It really is," Sam explains. "She once nailed her own dress to the wall trying to hang a picture."

Castiel laughs, and I laugh. "Well I'd offer Caroline, but I think I'm going to be needed, but Christian here is good with tools. You working tomorrow Christian?"

"Well, no, but—"

"There you go Caroline, Christian can help you out," big brother decrees not bothering to ask if I had anything else planned.

I stare at him flabbergast for a second because, well just because. "But Castiel, I—"

He arches a brow at me asking if I really want to argue with him. Just because he doesn't live here, don't mean his authority loses its consequence. "I can help you Caroline, why didn't you just ask?" I say wryly.

"Did you ask Dally, Caroline?" Sam says. "I think he's free to help too."

I spin my head to look at Sam, does he know? No. He couldn't. Could he?

"Why, I didn't even think of that. I must be gettin' tired. I'll ask him, it'll be faster if they build it together, won't it Chris?"

I'll bet she didn't _just_ think of it; I smile at her anyway. "Real fast."

Next Day

I'm nervous as all hell. I'm gonna kill Caroline. But she's so damn pretty and so damn charming that when I see her, all I can do is smirk and say, "I should tan your pretty hide." She reminds me too much of myself to be mad at for long. I wish it were her I was gone for, things would be so much easier.

"Sorry Sugar," she says not sorry at all. "I've only got your best interests at heart."

I shake my head at her. "I told you I'd ask him in my own time, when I worked up my nerve."

"And he'll be on his way back home by then. Follow me."

The hall my parents have rented for my little nephew's birthday is ridiculous. Not that I don't think Dean deserves it, but he is only three, I think Dean'll think it's ridiculous too. It's big enough to fit five hundred people and that's good, because I think the entire County's invited. The Colts alone probably take up half that number anyway, I guess. They've had this thing rented out the past two weeks so we could take our time setting up.

I follow the scheming, dainty blonde to the back of the hall and outside on the grass where _he's_ already there with a hammer and nails and fuck; it's hot already, so he's got his fucking shirt off, carrying a two by four on his shoulder. The jeans he's wearing should be illegal, hanging off his hips like that, torn to shreds, he's got a white Stetson sitting on top of his wavy, dirty blonde hair. When he sets the wooden plank down, his jeans ride low, like real low, so I can nearly see the crack of his ass. My dick is so hard right now. But as much as I'm enjoying the view, so are a few of the other staff that were hired for some of the other set up duties; I don't want them looking at him.

Oh jeez. I can't do this. I tug on the back of Caroline's dress. "You gotta stay, at least 'till my heart calms down."

"You'll be fine," she hisses at me.

"Caroline."

"I'll give you a few minutes, then I'm meetin' up with Brady. He's helping me too." I think Caroline has half the boys in this County wrapped around her finger.

"Heya, Dally," she says and hugs her brother.

"Hey sweet girl. Hey Chris," he says turning to look at me.

"Hi," I say because that's all I can say. I really like it when he calls me Chris.

"Well I'll leave you to it," Caroline says. I scowl at her; traitor—few minutes my ass. She winks at me when Dallas turns around, then she's gone before I can say a word about it.

"So, uh, a puppet box, huh?"

"Yeah," he smiles. "I think Lulu and the twins are going to be our puppeteers to start, so I'm making it big enough for them, since they're the biggest of who'll probably climb inside. The nieces and nephews might too, but they're smaller."

"You're not planning on it?" I try and tease, but I don't think that sounded how I wanted it too. Hell in a hand basket, I hope he doesn't catch me looking at his abs. There's already sweat beading off them.

He smiles his beautiful smile and wipes his brow with the back of his hand. "Naw. I'm the music, they've got me set to play during their little show they want to put on for Dean."

Okay, I think I've been staring at him for way too long. "Chris. Christian?"

"Yeah?"

"I've said your name like three times, you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little tired. Went out with the boys last night after the thing at my parents," I lie.

"Oh, well I was saying you could join me?"

"Huh?"

"For the singing and the playing—I wouldn't mind having a band member."

"You mean like play in front of people?"

He laughs and without meaning to I smile. "You did last night."

"That wasn't people, that was you, and uh, family." Shit. That don't sound good.

"I'm not people to you?"

"No. I mean yes, I mean, y'all are people, but I know you guys—I don't want to play for just anyone. Here, pass me your hammer, a hammer, I mean," shit. "I don't got all day, I want to get this done."

I'm so pissed at myself for making such a fool. What's wrong with me? He's just a guy, like any other guy.

We work for a bit and he sets his hat down. That damn piece of hair that always falls in his eyes does and I want to push it back off his face so bad. Damn my Winchester fussiness, other people don't worry about such things. I resist the urge, but I want to tell him to tie his hair back. I definitely don't want him to cut it. Could you imagine? Running your hands through them locks while you…well, you know.

"This ruining your day off, Christian? You look upset. I can do this myself. It'll just take me a bit longer, but it's not hard to do."

"No, uh, it's not ruining anything I mean. I'm off all week. I'm off most of the time my brother's here actually. I mean, I might need to go in here and there, but that's it. I think I just need a drink. They got beer around this place?"

"In the kitchen I think."

"Okay."

"Christian, wait."

My heart's beating fast. He wants me to come back? "Yeah?"

"Get me one?"

Oh right. Idiot. I shoulda offered. Now I seem like an inconsiderate dick. "Yessir."

Caroline's in the kitchen with that Brady guy. He's all over her, I push between them like they're saloon doors and end their make-out fest. I open the fridge.

"Christian!"

"Payback's a bitch," I say to her, then I turn my eyes on Brady. "You keep your hands where God can see'em, or I'll break'em."

I pull two beers out of the fridge and head back to Dallas.

"What's with you?" he says as I pass him a beer.

"Huh?"

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, just Caroline." Fuck. That does not sound how I mean it.

"Caroline?"

"Yeah." I decide to rat her out. "She was making out with that Brady guy, I fixed his wagon though."

"Oh," he says deflated. "Guess that's hard for you, I can see you really like her."

"Yeah. I mean, no. What I mean is, I love her, like a sister."

He looks confused. "But the fundraiser last year?"

"That was just as friends."

"It was?"

"Sure was."

"Huh." He seems to think on that one. "So you two have _never_ dated?"

""No. Not ever.

"Huh," he says again and I think…I think he's staring at me. "Do you…do you want to date her? I could help—"

I shake my head frantically, because I've got enough Colts involved in my love life thank you very much. "I mean it, Dallas, like a little sister. Nothing more."

He's biting his lip, but he says nothing, nodding toward the wood, suggesting without words we get back to work. So we do and the beer relaxes me enough I'm not actin' a complete fool, though still fool enough.

We spend the next hour working in silence except for small words exchanged, as I quietly follow his direction. I don’t want to say too much and make a fool out of myself. Well, more of a fool than I already have. I have to suffer his shirtlessness though, suffering because everyone's staring at him and it's pissing me off. I glare at the guys mostly (when he's not looking) and a few of the girls too. Plus, that damn strand of hair is driving me up the wall. My skin is startin' to itch.

"So who are you bringing then?" he suddenly asks.

"Huh? Where?"

"The fundraiser." His voice has a playful lilt to it I can't quite figure out.

"Don't know."

"I thought Caroline said you had someone of interest? Is that the same person you learned the guitar for?"

I swallow. "Yeah."

"Oh. Lucky girl, you must like her a lot."

I nod. "You have no idea. What about you?"

"I'm not bringing anyone. Free as a bird. Maybe I'll ask Dean to be my date."

This is it. I can feel it. The perfect moment to ask him. He's even looking at me, like he might be waiting and expecting me to. I step forward, a step too far into his personal space and fuck… _man up Winchester_. But it's not so simple. If he says no, I'll die. "Dallas?"

"Yeah Christian?"

I'm about to open my mouth when he bites his lip again, looking at me with his blue Colt eyes, tilts his head forward shyly and that damn strand of hair falls forward again; I reach out without thinking, and tuck it behind his ear. Shit. I touched him. I touched him in an inappropriate manner—friends don't do that, do they? Tell me they do.

I step away from him like he's on fire. "Um, beer. You want another?"

He nods jerkily. "Yeah, uh, I'll just…I gotta make a phone call. Check on Dean."

"Yeah." I make a hasty retreat, because Jesus, I can't believe I _touched_ him. When I'm in the kitchen and well out of his sight, I feel like I can breathe, using the wall for support of course. "Oh will you two knock it off?" Caroline and Brady are making out again.

She pushes Brady gently. "Why? Just 'cause you're to yellow to take what you want, don't mean I am." She winks at me.

I don't have it in me too care too much about what she was doing with Brady before I walked in. I'm in crisis mode. "I messed things up royally, Caroline."

Brady's quiet, glad I haven't decided to break his hands yet. "No you haven't. Here are some more beers."

"How do you know that? I haven't even told you what I've gone and done."

"And I don't want to hear it. Get back out there."

"No. I'm leavin'." I can't go back out there.

"You are not. I've gone to a lot of trouble."

"Well, no one asked you."

She looks me over, concerned. "Here, have a seat. I'll get you somethin' to chew on, you can have a break, but then you're going back out there, Sur."

I don't know about that, but I sit, grateful she's allowing me a time out; I need to collect myself.

~GUW: MUCH EARLIER THAT MORNING~

"Daddy…Dahdeee…"

"Sweetheart? You okay?"

"Nu-uh. Is not good, Daddy." He sniffles. Rats, I think it's a cold. Okay, that's not good, but it's not that bad either. It's better than the flu.

"You need me to grab anything for you, Baby?" Cas says sleepily. It's two am, we just got to bed an hour ago, but it was enough time to fall asleep.

"Do you know where your parent's humidifier is? That would be helpful."

"Mmmm…I don't, but I'll go ask Mother, she won't mind and neither will Father."

"Thanks, Cassy." I don't want to worry them, but if Dean can't breathe, he'll never go back to sleep. I reach and grab some Kleenex off the nightstand, as Cas sleepily stumbles out of bed into the dark.

"Where's Papa goin'?" he sniffles.

"He'll be back, he's just getting something to help his Dean bean. Here, blow for Daddy." I hold the Kleenex to his nose and he blows.

"Is not Papa's Dean bean, is Daddy's Dean bean," he says grouchily, but it's kinda funny, so I have to try not to laugh. Dean can be quite particular, like his papa sometimes.

"Okay, sweetheart. Daddy's sorry. How about you close your eyes and go back to sleep?"

"Is still, is still nighttime?"

"Yeah, still nighttime. C'mere and cuddle with Daddy." He curls into me with Tigger, who's managed to stay with Dean this time. We're like that when Cas comes back with the humidifier; he sets it up in the dark, using the flashlight on his phone, so we don't have to turn the light on and wake up our little one further.

"How is he?" Cas says quietly.

"Is, is not good Papa," Dean answers for me.

I run my hand through his hair. "I think he's going to be up awhile Cassy. If you want you can go sleep in his room."

Dean is not a fan of that idea. "Nooo…Papa stays with his Dean 'Chester, Daddy."

"S'okay, Baby. That was nice for you to offer, but I don't think I could sleep worrying about him anyway. You want to come see Papa Kiddo?" Cas asks once the whir of the humidifier fills the room.

"No. Has to stay with Daddy. Youse can scratch my back, Papa?" he says all of this around his soother, so it sounds a bit garbled, just makes it more cute.

I can't see it, but I know Cas is smiling; how can you not smile at that?

So Papa lies on the other side of him, scratching his back and I continue to smoothe his hair back. I get him to blow his nose a few more times. "Can't sleep, Daddy," Dean informs me after trying for ten minutes.

"How about Daddy rocks you?"

"Kay."

I start to get up, but Cas stops me. "I'll go grab the rocking chair from his room, Baby."

"You sure, Cassy?"

"Yeah, it's better that way, otherwise we're all going to have to truck to Dean's room."

"Okay."

Cas gets up, again—poor Cas—and I pull one of the blankets off our bed and wrap it around Dean. Cas drags the rocking chair into the room and I settle onto the chair with Dean, the blanket and Tigger.

"Since you're up Cas, another bottle of broth would be helpful."

"No problem, Baby. You just tell me what you need and I'll get it." It drives Cas nuts when Dean's sick, because it's a problem he can't rectify immediately, he has to _do_ something.

He's off on his third errand of the night, and Dean is looking up at me with droopy eyes I can _just_ see in the darkness, with the light from the window. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, my babe?"

"Tigger isn't good too."

"What's going on with Tigger?"

"His head feels heavy and he can't breathe."

"That's what the humidifier is for my babe. You hear that noise?"

"Yeah."

"That's the humidifier, it will make him breathe better."

"Oh."

Cas is back with a bottle of broth. "Here you go, Baby," he says to me. "Anything else?"

"No, we're good. How about you lay down, Cassy? I'll rock him, I'm sure he'll fall asleep."

He nods, but he lays on the side of the bed closest to us in the rocking chair. Dean only half cares I'm feeding him out of a bottle for the second time, but he doesn't complain. I think he likes Gramma's broth.

He has to take the bottle out at intervals to blow his nose and eventually he is out again. Cas is still awake when I lay us back in the bed. "What are we going to do, Baby? His birthday's on Saturday."

Today's Thursday, least it is now; it's three am Thursday morning. "It's only a cold Cas, I think we're going to have to power through it. It really sucks, but thems the breaks with a little one. We're lucky Dean doesn't get sick as often as other kids."

"Yeah, I just wanted everything to be perfect."

"Me too. I bet he'll be feeling a little better by Saturday. We'll keep up with the Colt remedies and your mother's broth, something's bound to work. I'll phone Mama."

We only get another two hours of sleep and Dean's up again, but this time for good. Cas and I are zonked, Dean's equally as tired, but his stuffy nose is stuffier and it's hard for him to breathe so he's not going back to sleep. I try to get Cas to stay in bed, so there's at least one of us getting some sleep, but he refuses saying that wouldn't be fair.

"We can trade off, Cassy."

"And Dean's going to let you go for a second?"

Well, probably not. I sigh. "Cas, it's sweet you want to suffer a long with me, but really—"

"No way Sam. If I had work in the morning, that would be different, but I don't."

So that's how we both get no sleep. It's now five am, so Cas and I clamber out of bed, me with my sleepy eyed, babe. Cas and I get dressed. If we were at home, it would definitely be a housecoats and pajamas kind of day, but neither of us wants to test Clyde, despite having a reasonable excuse. Dean's got a pair of cute, comfy overall shorts, I put on him, after I change his diaper and remove the poultice I had on him last night; I leave him shirtless. It's going to be hot today anyway.

When Dean's sick, he's the mini-little-boy-version of Cas and I still say he learned it from Cas. He jumps between woe-be-tide-poor-little-me and pissed the fudge off. Right now he's pissed. "Wants juice Daddy," he demands. "In Dean's cup."

"Okay, sweetheart. Will you sit with Papa while Daddy gets it?"

"Nooo!"

"Okay, okay." I give in easily when he's not feeling well.

"I'll get it, Baby," Cas says jumping up when it's clear how today's going to go; as predicted, I've got a Dean Kling-on.

Once he's got his juice I ask him, "how about some oatmeal sweetheart?"

He's rubbing his red eyes. The thing with colds…they're more of just an annoyance than anything else. They make you feel yucky enough you're miserable, but you feel well enough you still want to do some things. He might eat; he might not. I figure he'll be hungry this morning, since he didn't eat last night.

"Doesn't want oatmeal, Daddy."

"Grill cheese?"

"At breakfast time?"

"Yep. You can have a grill cheese at breakfast time and some more broth how does that sound?"

"Okay. Daddy makes it?"

Our little boy already knows that Papa is many things, but he's no cook. "Papa will get Gramma to make it, unless you will come see Papa while Daddy makes it?" Cas says.

"Uhh!" he grunts curling into me. Sometimes you just need Daddy.

"Cas, it's five-thirty in the morning. I do plenty of things one handed at home."

"I'm not in the mood to argue Sam. You shouldn't be arguing with me anyway."

Right. Grouchy Cas. "Sorry, Cassy. I'll stay with Prince Charming while you get your mother."

When he's gone I roll my eyes at both of them. He's just worried about Dean, it puts him on edge as it is, never mind the lack of sleep, plus the grouchy little boy. Speaking of.

"Finished my juice Daddy. Dean needs more."

"Did your cold wipe away your manners, sweet boy?" I tease him.

"Uhh!" he says by way of complaint, kicking his legs, not in the mood to be teased, but sometimes I can get him to laugh when he's sick, so I'll keep trying. He turns around in my lap and grabs onto my neck curling his head into my shoulder.

"My poor Dean bean." I sway him as I get up and get him more juice. "After we eat, we can watch some cartoons, Daddy and Dean will kick back. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Youse is gonna give Dean some medicine?"

"Yep, Daddy will make Dean all better, baby." I kiss his head and get some more Kleenex for his runny nose. By then, Cas is back.

"She'll be out asap, I can start warming up more broth—I'm capable of that much," he says.

"Thanks, Cassy."

It's not long before Claire is in the kitchen looking a lot more put together than Cas and I. "Oh, dollface. Are you sick?"

"Yeah, Gramma. Dean's sick." He'll get lots of sympathy from Gramma, probably Grampa too.

"And I hear you want grill cheese?"

"Please, Gramma."

At least Gramma gets a please. Half-way through the grill cheese making, Clyde comes out looking as fresh as Claire. "I say, well I say, what happened, cowboy?"

"Dean's sick," he tells him, pulling the bottle of broth out of his mouth, his nose stuffy, muddling the words.

"This is an outrage. Claire, what happened?"

Dean giggles for the first time this morning. "Well I don't know Clyde. I don't think we let any colds in the house."

"Is the bugs, Grampa. Dean has bugs in him, Daddy said."

"What's this about bugs? Do we need to hire an exterminator?"

"What's that?"

"Exterminators kill bugs."

"Can't have that for little boys," Dean tells him as Gramma serves him up grill cheese.

"How do you know? You didn't even know what one was a second ago."

"'Cause, Daddy makes little boys better with medicine and stuff."

"Well consider me informed Mr. Winchester," Clyde says helping himself to coffee Cas made and siting down.

"This coffee's perfect, Claire this is perfect." Figures he would like Cas's mud coffee.

"Don't look at me, your son made it."

"Good job son. Nobody around here makes it strong enough."

Cas beams.

"Now, what's the plan to get rid of these bugs, again?" Clyde sits down and pretends to strategize with Dean. I watch in awe, because I've known Clyde since I was five years old, he's never been this good with kids. I'm not surprised Dean inspired it and I'm pretty sure his new kid-friendly ways are going to have a bias toward Dean, but I sure do like watching it.

My surly little boy laughs it up with Grampa all through breakfast, eating most of his grill cheese and he even lets Grampa take him out to the couch to watch some cartoons. I take the opportunity to have a quick, quick shower, pee and eat something. Soon as Dean decides he's unbearably sick again I'll have my Kling-on back. "What should we do Sam?" Cas asks.

"It's a cold, not the plague. He'll be okay Cassy, and with just a few more Colt remedies, he'll be right as rain."

"Not to offend your Colt remedies, but they didn't exactly work to prevent this cold."

"No, they don't always. But those were just the prevention remedies, you know we've got many more virus killing remedies to use that work plenty good."

"True. Poor Dean. I don't know which is worse, having the cold, or having to suffer through Colt remedies."

I may put him through the remedies when he's sick and I think he purposely tries to block out those memories when he's well; he couldn't tell you exactly what the Colt remedies are and he's skeptical of them. "Isn't nice, Cas," I say using Dean's vernacular and pushing him, so his coffee sloshes a little in the mug he's holding.

He laughs though and it's worth taking a little teasing, this morning's turned out fair despite its rocky start. Cas and I are both tired and it shows, but apparently some of Cas's other needs override his need to sleep.

"I want to stick my cock in your ass Baby. Can I?" he whispers into my ear.

"Fuck, Cas," I shiver. His parents are both in the other room with Dean by this point.

"There's my dirty boy's dirty mouth already. It's been a long, long time."

You know we've already been parents too long when we're talking like Dean during our sex talk. "I do Cassy, so much, but what if he—"

"Believe me, it ain't gonna take long." Cas always makes fun of me for my accent coming back whenever we get near our family, but his filters back too, maybe not as strong, but it's there.

"Let's go."

We race to our room and shut the door, which Cas lightly slams me into and aggressively attacks my lips undoing my shorts at the same time as I work on undoing his. We feel rushed and we don't really have a lot of time for prep; Cas spins me around, sucks on his middle finger and slides it into my ass. "God, this ass is too white, I wish I had time to spank you, Baby," he says punctuating that with a decent slap to my ass while I fuck his finger. I keen back wanting more.

"Oh, god Cassy. I could really use a spanking." Sometimes just being here is overwhelming, it brings back memories. They're not bad memories, but I used to do a lot, like _a lot_ more than I do with Dean; much of the family responsibility fell to me as the eldest. Responsibility I wanted, but Cas showed me what it could feel like to relinquish that responsibility and well, you know the rest. Clearly I liked that very much. I don't mind taking over on occasion though, that feels good sometimes.

"I'm going to find time to take care, of you Baby, I promise." I whine when he removes the finger I was enjoying so very much.

Cas steps out of his shorts, then grabs me and throws me on the bed, my pants still around my ankles. Cas is needy. He's quick with the lube and more fingers. "Cassy, I'm good, I need your cock, Sugar."

Cas understands that we're working on an uncertain time budget and trusts that I wouldn’t lead him into doing something that hurts me. His cock slides into me and we're basically fucking like, sloppy, horny teenagers whose parents might catch them any second.

"I missed your huge cock in my ass, Cassy."

He's too busy to answer, moaning and grunting in my ear, working his way up to a quick orgasm, as I do the same. Right after a particularly nice slam of Cas's cock up my hole and brushing my prostate, I unmistakably hear the pitter patter of little feet coming down the hall, thankfully I have an unconscious radar for them, even during sex. "Dean, Dean's coming!" I shout whisper.

Cas pulls out fast. "Shit." And we scramble under the sheets, both completely worked up and very close to orgasm, effectively cockblocked by our three-year-old son, not for the first time. And it's a good thing we got under the sheets fast. He doesn't knock and has to fiddle with the door a second, but he gets it and storms in, Clyde close behind him.

Dean takes a big, sad sniffle and I immediately feel guilty for our sexual escapades. "Why you didn't come back?"

"Um, uh…"

"Yeah. Why you didn't come back, Daddies?" Clyde says with a smirk completely entertained, knowing what we were up to.

Dean climbs on the bed feeling it just as much, if not more so _his_ territory, Tigger clutched in his little fist by the ear. He sniffles again and I automatically reach to the bedside table for a Kleenex. "I'm sorry sweetheart. Can you blow for me?"

He blows and takes his soother out. "Is youse sleepin' again, Daddy?"

That sounds good. "We were trying to relax, pumpkin." What? Sex is a great way to relax.

"Looks like you got this under control. I'll leave you with him, then," Clyde says leaving us, knowing we're probably half naked under the sheets. Evil jack apple.

"I thought you were watching cartoons with Grampa?"

"Was, but then Dean saw you were gone."

"I see."

"An', an', an' Daddy?"

"Yeah Sugar bug?"

"We's can call Michael?"  
"That's a fantastic idea," I say, except my phone is in my pants, which are around my ankles.

"Um, Cas, you happen to have your phone handy?"

He shakes his head and looks toward his pants, which are on the floor, which his Father probably saw. Jesus H. Okay, this is going to take some strategizing, I get Dean to face me and start asking him a thousand and one questions about the cartoons he was watching with Grampa, all the while, willing my dick to deflate.

Cas, taking at hint, hops out of bed and slides into his pants while I've got Dean distracted. Not that it would matter if Dean saw either one of us naked, we're all the 'comfortable in our skin, a body's just a body' types of people. Dean's seen us naked plenty (like Cas in the bath with him last night) and the questions he asks sometimes are pretty entertaining. But it's because of _what_ we were doing we hide. He won't know what we were up to, but we still feel like he'll know. It's our own irrational guilt making us be secretive.

I have a clear view of Cas and I can see he has to zip his shorts over a still impressive erection. He hands us his phone lying back down with us. We facetime Michael.

Dean doesn't wait for him to say hello. "Dean's sick, Michael." I swear he adds a sniffle for effect.

Michael looks pissed. "I'm sorry, Duck."

"An', an', there's bugs in me. Daddy's going to get'em out later I think."

While Dean's distracted, getting coddled by Michael, I reach down the blankets and pull my underwear and shorts up, Cas and I high five over his head.

~GUW~

My head feels like it's stuffed with fucking cotton, my throat hurts and I can't breathe. Awesome. Michael can do dick all, a million fucking miles away from me, except glare at my daddies and blame them for everything.

"Then Grampa and Dean watches cartoons and had to find Daddy and Papa 'cause they leaved, Dean bean."

"But you were with your grandfather?" Michael says.

"Yeah."

"Good. I like that particular Winchester. But you found your daddies?"

"Yep, was relaxing in their bed."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"What kids?"

"Never mind. What are you going to do now?"

"Don't know. Daddy, what's we gonna do now?"

"We're going to treat Dean with some Colt remedies. Why don't you say goodbye to Michael?"

It's about time. I want this thing out of me, I feel like shit.

"You make sure you get lots of rest Duck. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Bye, Michael," I say and let out a round of coughing, as I pass Daddy the phone. He says bye to Michael after assuring him he'll either call or text him to update my status. Papa rubs my back.

"Poor, Dean," Papa says. I don't think he knows what to do. When he gets sick, he barks at Daddy a lot.

"Cas, would you please get me your parent's thermometer?"

"Yeah, I think they've got one of those ear ones for kids like we have at home."

"Then maybe you could go get me a list of things I'm going to need?"

"Of course, Baby."

Daddy always gives Papa things to do, when he can tell he's agitated. Papa leaves and it's just Daddy and me. "Tigger says his throat hurts like antpaper."

"Did Tigger mean sandpaper, sweetheart?" Daddy asks, pushing hair away from my face and feeling my forehead.

"Yeah. Think so."

"Is my Dean bean ready to try sleeping again? That's the best medicine."

"Youse is going to give Dean some other medicine too?"

"Sorta. But I don't want to overload you, my babe. The soup broth will help your immune system, but Daddy's going to mix up another kind of poultice for you. I'd rather you slept some more."

I don't know what he's talking about, nor do I care, except the sleeping part, which I don't want to do. I'd like to see him sleep without breathing. He grabs out another Kleenex for me and tells me to blow.

"Daddy? You will watch cartoons with me?"

"Yeah, let's go cuddle sweetheart."

Papa comes back with the thermometer and Daddy sticks it in my ear, twice. "A little elevated, but not too bad. That's good. The stuff I did last night must have helped a bit."

Papa looks skeptical.

Daddy gathers me up with a blanket (just for cuddling, it's fricking hot) and Tigger and we head out to the family room, where Gramma is working on a quilt and Grampa is reading a book. Gramma made me a Tigger quilt already, but I'm curious about what she's making now. Daddy sits us on the couch next to where she's quilting and puts cartoons on, but I'm sucking my soother and watching her instead. "Okay, Baby. What do you need me to get for you?" Papa asks Daddy.

Daddy starts listing off a bunch of stuff, but I'm interested in Gramma, I point at her quilt, she knows what I'm asking.

"This is going to be for your new little cousin, Doll. Did you know I've been making one for every Colt, since Austin?"

Austin is my big cousin; Auntie Georgia's eldest son.

I shake my head. "This one's a teddy bear and I'll add his name when we find that out."

My Gramma Winchester's so nice, I love her lots and lots. "Do you want a new one when I'm done? You're my special grandson, so you get as many as you want."

I really like my Tigger one, but I don't want to hurt her feelings by telling her no, so I just nod.

"That sounds like a lot of stuff, son. I'll come with you," Grampa offers. "I'd like to do what I can to help our fallen cowboy. He needs to get back on his horse for this birthday party."

All I know is I better fucking get cake. "My throat, Daddy," I say when they're gone.

"Do you have any pure, natural honey, Mother?"

"We do indeed. I'll go get you some."

I cuddle into Daddy. "Dean feels, yucky," I start to cry. I've been distracted all morning, but now that it's just Daddy, and me I'm really feeling the effects.

"I know, sweetheart," he says rubbing my back. "Let's watch some Big Comfy Couch. Okay? Luna will make you feel better while we wait for Papa."

"Okay, and we can watch Blue's Clues?"

"Anything you want."

That's kind of kick ass. Daddy doesn't let me watch a lot of T.V. Gramma is back pretty quick with the honey and a spoon. Daddy makes up a spoon with honey on it for me and it's fucking delicious; it does help my throat a little.

I've watched three episodes of Comfy Couch and two of Blue's Clues, all snuggled into Daddy, before Grampa and Papa come back. What took them so long? They've got several big bags. Just what the fuck does Daddy plan on doing to me?

Whatever's he's going to do, he's going to do now. He shuts off my shows. "Hey!" I complain.

"We'll watch some more later sweetheart, I promise. Daddy's got to make you better."

Daddy carts me up to the bath, Papa following with bags. "You just tell me what to do Sam and I'll do it."

"Thanks Cas. If you could run the bath and put in three drops each of; tea tree, juniper, rosemary, thyme, orange, lavender and eucalyptus oils?"

I start to cry, because I don't want a bath now, it's too early. "Isn't…isn't baathtiiimme Dahdeeee…" Daddy and I have a very specific schedule we follow and this isn't it. It feels too funny having baths in the daytime.

"Oh I know, Sugar. This is to make you better."

I don't give a shit. I continue to cry, as Daddy takes off my cool, farmer overalls and removes my diaper. "Do you have to pee?"

"Nooo…" I'm still fucking crying. Baths during the day are all wrong; this is fucking bullshit. When I'm naked, I get passed to Papa, who places me, still crying, in the bath.

"Dean, Dean. Kiddo, it's time to calm down. It's just a bath, it's to help you."

"Is not the right time, Papa."

"You want Papa to sit in the bath with you?"

I could have bath time with Papa two nights in a row? "Please, Papa." Crying makes the sniffle factor worse, like a lot worse. There's snot running down my nose and into my mouth, but Papa's quick with Kleenex for me.

After he wipes my nose, I stand in the middle of the bath in the wake of my crying aftershocks, and wait for Papa to get undressed so he can come in the tub with me. I can't smell much of anything, but I can _just_ get the hint of something rising from the bath water and it smells nice. There's a little splash behind me when Papa steps into the water; he grabs me from behind and pulls me down into the water with him. I've still got crying sniffles happening at odd intervals and I've lost my soother, but being held in Papa's strong arms is nice. Crying takes a lot of energy out of you when you're well, being sick, I'm extra tired from crying and I think I was already tired to begin with. I lean against Papa's bare chest as he uses his hand to wipe more crap from my nose. Wow. He must fucking love me. I don't think I'd wipe his gross, snot nose with my hand.

Daddy's mixing some kid of concoction as well as some other potions like he's a fucking witchdoctor (that's what Michael always calls Dr. Shaggy.) "Try not to get the water in his eyes, Cassy. See if he'll just sit for fifteen minutes."

Papa's voice is a low rumble in his chest as he starts singing me some Tim Mcgraw and then some Garth Brooks as I sink into him. "You got another soother over there for him, Sam? This one's full of oils. I think he might fall asleep."

Fall asleep? Oh, my eyes are fucking closed and wow, I can breathe a little better. This bath thing is fucking working. Maybe I can sleep here, on Papa. A few seconds later a soother is pressed into my mouth and I can hear them, distantly in the background. I'm not asleep, but I'm definitely not all the way awake either.

"So we were wrong about Christian and Caroline, Cassy. We’re going to have to re-plan the wedding."

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Christian likes Dally."

"What?" he shout whispers probably thinking I'm asleep.

"I think it's pretty bad too. I think that's why he learned the guitar, to impress Dal."

"That's crazy, Sam. And even if you're right, there's no way I'm allowing this to happen."

"Why? My brother not good enough for yours, Castiel Winchester?"

That's Daddy's pissed off voice, I'm sure he's giving Papa a decent glare, but I can't see, my eyes are still closed; it's nice to be able to breathe through my nose again. "It's my brother that's not good enough for yours. He's a playboy. I won't have him breaking Dallas's heart." Papa cares a lot about Uncle Dal, still, I could see why Daddy might think he'd choose his brother over his brother-in-law.

"We've heard a lot about his exploits, sure, and some of them might even be true, but how do we know he's not fudging some of it?"

"I think you're just a Colt wanting to play matchmaker. You want to believe it could be a romantic love story."

"You were fine when it was Caroline and Christian."

"Well first off, I was drunk when we were goofing around about that; second, Caroline's a Tiger. If I was going to worry about anyone in that situation, it would've been Christian and I wasn't worried about him, because if he's going to play with fire, I'm going to let him get burned. That boy needs to learn a lesson or two; he's still naïve. But I won't let him play with Dallas, Dallas is—"

"Also able to take care of himself, Castiel Grace."

Whoa. Papa should quit while he's ahead. Papa's chest deflates a bit as he tries to find words. "I can see you want this Sam and I too think it would be nice and now that I look back on it, their little guitar playing thing could be seen as flirting; I'll go as far as to admit it was cute…I just don't want Dallas hurt because of my brother. You can understand that, can't you?"

"I can Cas. That's real sweet." That's the same time, Daddy's phone rings. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear. It's Dally, you okay with him another few minutes? I'll just step out to take this really quick. All my preparations are done, when I come back we can take Dean out and fix him up Colt style."

"Of course, Baby. We're good."

Daddy leaves and it's just Papa and I in the bath. "I know I shouldn't be so worried over a little cold," he tells me. "But, can you get better, real fast, Kiddo? Papa hates when he can't fix you."

Silly Papa. He sounds just like Michael. Daddy knows exactly how to make me all better anyway…and this is pretty nice cuddled up to Papa in the warm bath, breathing in the nice scents.

Daddy comes back in a few minutes later. "What's the smug look on your face all about Sam Winchester?"

"Let's just say, I think it's too late to worry about Dally."


	9. The One Where Dean has the Little Man Cold (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)I don't know why, but I feel like I need to remind everyone of this excerpt from The Winchesters, chapter 18: 
> 
> The night the daddies went out and Dean was left with the Colts and eventually became the sparkle baby, but before that, they played musical Dean in the bath...this is from the 'bath scene.' This is part of Caroline and Jamie's conversation.  
>  _It's Uncle Jamie. "The twins are fighting with Lulu and they won't listen to me. Can you go knock their heads together?"_  
>  _"Well I'm giving Dean a bath—if they won't listen to you, what makes you think they'll listen to me? You're older."_  
>  _"Yeah, but your voice is like Mama's, they'll behave on instinct."_  
>  _"What about Dallas? He sounds like Daddy—they won't misbehave around him."_
> 
>  
> 
> 2) Lizard Whisperer spends an exorbitant amount of time making beautiful Picture Parodies of EACH chapter I write. So for her, I'm going to put as much Tigger as I can into the next two chapters. Thank you LDubs, I heart you.

Dean's asleep on Cas, which is the only reason I feel okay to take the call. That and all my potions are ready to go; Dean still needs another fifteen minutes in the bath anyway. My poor, poor babe.

I step out and answer. "Heya, Dally."

"Uh, Sammy?"

I laugh a bit confused. He sounds flustered. Dal is never flustered. "That's who you called."

"Sorry. I know. I just; I don't have much time. How's Dean?"

"Sick. A cold—going to Colt Remedy him."

"A cold? Well I'll come right away."

What? "Dal, it's just a cold. Cas and I have it under control."

"If you're sure."

"What's going on Dallas, Colt?" I have rarely ever have to Dallas Colt Dally.

He takes a deep breath. "Sorry, Sammy—I really did want to check on Dean, but I'm…I need your help."

"Are you all right?" Now I'm worried. Dally's never in trouble either.

"I'm fine Sammy, I, it's Chris—Christian."

Oh. I'm starting to piece this together. I lean against the wall. "What about Christian?" I try to keep the inflection out of 'Christian,' but I don't think I'm successful. He doesn't notice.

"I think he…Sammy did you know he never dated Caroline?"

"I know they went to the fundraiser last year," I say toying with him a bit.

"As friends. _Just_ as friends."

"He told you that?"

"Uh-huh."

"And?"

"Sammy, my first _real_ boner was because of Christian Winchester. I've had a crush on him since I was in fifth grade."

That's way more information than I was hoping to know, but as we all know, Dal's never like this, so I don't mention it. "You've liked him since fifth grade?"

"Yeah, but I was too young for him. He was in high school, same grade as Aubrey—they had to work on a high school project once together. He's kinda been too old for me 'till recent," he says. Yeah, 'till, I'm guessing, last year. "So I stopped thinking about him that way, well, not that I haven't always remained attracted to him, and uh, well you don't need to know that part, but I just put him in this off limits sort of category. But now…"

"You're driving me crazy Dal, what happened?"

"Well he…he touched me, kind of. Least I'm sure that's what that was."

"Touched you?"

"Like, my hair. He touched my hair."

Not helpful. He's not making sense, I need to take hold of this cowboy. "Are you saying, you think Christian, _likes_ you, likes you?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"And from what you've just told me, you like him, so what's the big deal? Ask him out."

"You think that's wise? I mean, we don't even live in the same state and you're married to his older brother—what if it doesn't work out?"

"Dal, you're asking him on a date, not into a marriage. See if you two have more than just mutual attraction, before you plan the wedding."

"What if I'm readin' him wrong? I don't want to make a fool of myself big brother."

Okay. Time to come clean. "I have it on good authority, that he's over the moon for you, Sugar. Ask him out."

"You do? Over the moon? Really?"

"Yep."

"O-okay then. I'll at least put out more of a vibe. I was a bit already, but I was being really subtle. I'll lay it on a little thicker."

"Woo!" I shout quietly. "You get your cowboy, cowboy."

"Okay. I'll stop by later to cheer Dean up."

I get off the phone with him, happier than a clam and head back in to my family. "What's that smug look on your face all about Sam Winchester?"

"Let's just say, I think it's too late to worry about Dally."

Dean's still comfortably sleeping against Cas. Cas's face twists into his suspicious expression. "Leave them be, Samuel."

"Leave them be? I didn't do anything—he's the one who's been crushing on your brother since fifth grade."

Cas carefully lays Dean, who's now a rag doll, against his chest, he complains a little bit, guess he's not all the way asleep, but he's most of the way there. The water noisily trickles off of Cas as he stands up. "I know what you Colts are like, involving yourselves to the nth degree. You're to stay out of it. Am I clear?"

"Yes Cas, but I don't see what the big deal is. They both like each other anyway, they just need the smallest of pushes."

"The big deal is a good spanking that your bottom won't like to sit on if you end up being that push."

"Then you should know, I did suggest he ask your brother out, but that's all I did. I won't nudge them anymore than that."

"I hope not. Let them get together in their own time, if they do get together. I'm still not sure it's for the best, but I won't stop them either."

"You won't?" He was dead set against it only moments ago.

He shakes his head. "I won't. I thought about what you said—Dallas can take care of himself. I just worry."

"That's why I love you so much."

He smiles. "So what we gotta do with Dean?"

"Here," I say grabbing a towel for Dean; Cas passes him to me; he complains vocally this time.

"Mmnh, Daddee. Is in the bath."

Only a three-year-old complains about getting in the bath and getting out of the bath.

"You liked that bath, huh? Did it make your nose a little better?"

"Yeah, can breathe, Daddy."

"Good. Daddy's going to help you some more."

I wrap him like a caterpillar in a cocoon and bring him to his room. Cas follows with all my potions. First I diaper Dean then I spread the first poultice on his chest. By this time, Dean's more awake and ready to grouch about what I'm doing to him. "Dean doesn't want this icky stuff, Daddy. Wants to go back in the bath."

"This stuff will help your chest, baby. Cas? Would you please turn the humidifier in our bedroom on?" Cas needs a job, instead of standing there, watching Dean complain.

Despite Dean's complaints, I continue to paste poultice on him with a paint brush. His lips turn down into a pout and the tears start, his soother falls out and onto the floor. "D-doesn't lllike it, I sa-aid!" he stomps a foot, heading toward full on melt down.

Nothing I say at this point will appease him—he needs a nap, bad, so I work faster and pull out the white bandages. "No!" he says looking around for an escape, but I'm blocking the only exit.

"I'm sorry baby," I try to soothe him as I start wrapping the bandages around him. That's when Cas comes back and he's not exactly in the most patient of moods.

"Dean," Cas says in his stern voice and that's usually all it takes.

"I-I-Dean doesn't want it, Pa-Papa."

I'm glad Cas can be stern, because he's breaking my heart, his voice cracking from his scratchy throat. "Daddy's making you better. Take a deep breathe, good boy. It's time to calm down," Cas says.

Dean listens to the sound of Cas's voice and watches him with careful eyes as I finish with my bandages. "There, Dean Bean. All done."

Crying gave him the hiccups, so he's standing, twisting his little hands, looking at Papa and breathing in and out like Cas said to, hiccupping sporadically. I put a t-shirt on him this time and forego pants, since I plan on trying to get him to sleep. "See? You're okay." I lift him from under his arms and sit him on the bed.

"W-what, what, now?"

"I have something to put on your feetsies then Daddy and Dean will lay down, okay?"

"How about, Papa?"

"You want Papa to scratch your back again?" Cas asks.

Dean sniffles and nods, the crying making his nose run again. Cas grabs a Kleenex for him as I begin applying a salve to the bottoms of his feet, then put little socks on him. "Come see Daddy, sweetheart," I say holding out my arms to him, still crouched on the floor by his feet. He jumps into them and lays his head on my shoulder—he's had enough. "You were so good, thank-you Pumpkin. Ready for a snooze?"

He nods. You know Dean's exhausted when he doesn't fight sleep. I grab up his soother and a bottle of eucalyptus from one of the bags, we head back to our room, and I pour some of the eucalyptus into the humidifier to give it a little extra kick.

Dean won't let me go for a second, so I have to manage lying down with him clung to me. Cas scratches his back and he breathes through this mouth a little as he drifts off to sleep, so I leave his soother out and by the nightstand. He was so exhausted he didn't even ask for Tigger, who's on the nightstand too. "My sister will be here for dinner tonight," Cas whispers and I can hear how exhausted he is.

"How about you stay here with him while he sleeps? I'll go sleep in Dean's room. The two of you will have a better sleep without three of us in here. You can be a little more rested for when your sister comes," I say to Cas. I know he'll feel better if he can look over Dean.

"If you're sure, Baby." Wow. No argument for him means Cas is tired too.

"I'm sure," I say slowly unfurling myself from Dean. He's completely knocked out though. The little concoction I put on his feet helped him fall asleep. I push his fringe back, so I can place a kiss on his forehead.

~Chris + Dally~

Under the penalty of complete and utter humiliation (because Caroline Colt's a sadist) I go back out to Dallas equipped with beer. Dallas is still workin' and still with his dang shirt off, sexier than hell, dammit. I was hoping he'd somehow get less sexy if I let him sit out in the sun here a little while. Ya know? Like what happens to a raisin?

But nope. If anything, he's sexier than when I left him; his skin a little more tanned, but there's something else too I can't quite put my finger on. If I could pick a word, I'd say Dallas is more _animated_ , yeah, there you go; Dallas is more animated.

"There you are. I thought y'all had run off," he says with a huge smile. It makes me more fucking nervous, 'cause gosh, he's so beautiful.

"Uh, your sister. She won't keep herself respectable around that Brady character."

He takes the beer from me, as if everything is normal. Doesn't he remember I _touched_ him? I take a sip of beer.

"Us Colts are like that," he winks. "We give off like we're innocent, but we're as wild in the sack as we are with everything else."

I almost spit out my fucking beer. Did he just? No. I'm imagining him hitting on me. But the look he's giving me sure as hell makes it look like he is. And I wouldn't think anymore of it, if he didn't _keep_ looking at me like that; like he wants to fucking bite my lip, but…I have to look away. "So should we uh?" I gesture toward the puppet box thing we're building.

"Yeah."

We get back to work, but it's not like before. He's openly staring at me, I can feel it, but when I look up at him, he looks away, with a smile on his face, barely trying to pretend he wasn't looking at me.

"You look like you're gettin' a bit too much sun there, cowboy," are his first words after an hour of this looking game. That's right. We haven't seemed to _need_ to speak in an hour. Somehow we don't need too many words to communicate what we need to get done.

"Uh, yeah. Been spending too much time in doors. Haven't been outside much." I want to comment that I don't flounce around without a shirt on like he does either, but I'd only be saying that 'cause I don't like everyone looking at him and I've got no right. Not to mention, it wouldn't really make sense.

"You don't gotta hat?"

"Not with me."

"Here," he says and plucks his hat off the bench, fixing it to my head. "I gotcha covered cowboy."

I don't know what to say. I'm wearing his hat—the one he probably sweat in earlier and I'm trying not to smile like a possum with a sweet potato. "Uh, well I thank you, sir."

We work another hour. He's still shirtless, but at least I've got _his_ hat on now and it somehow makes me feel better, like a reverse claiming. As we work, I do end up feeling more comfortable around him and I feel we've fully moved past the touching incident. When we're finished, we clean up our stuff and clink our beers. "So, we do good?" I say.

"Sure did. Thanks for helping, that went a lot faster."

"Anytime. I can take your empty—I'd better go check and make sure Caroline's not stuffing her tongue down Brady's throat again."

He laughs. "Thanks. And I'm gonna go check on Dean—he's sick."

"Oh. All right," I say trying not to make it look like I'm damn heartbroken over our time coming to an end. I didn't even ask him to the damn fundraiser—Caroline's gonna kill me.

He's smiling like he knows something. "So I'll see you there?"

"Huh?"

He laughs again and hits my hat so it falls over my eyes, only _my hat_ is actually _his hat_.

"Hey!" I scowl at him and pull it back proper, but I can't seem to get truly irritated with him, 'specially when he's smiling like that at me and there's no way I'm passing up the chance to spend more time with him. "I'm comin'. Here, take your hat back." But as I reach for it, he stops me.

"Naw. I got lots. Keep it." He grabs his shirt and tools. "See you there," he says before I can think of a suitable response, one that's not plain stupid.

I head to the kitchen to bring our beer bottles to the recycling and for once Caroline's doing some of the baking she's meant to be doing; Brady's helping her. "So? How'd it go, Chris?" she says, but then she looks at me and gives a Colt sized squeal. Oh. The hat. "That's Dallas's hat Chris."

"Hush. I know whose hat it is."

"That mean you asked him to the fundraiser?"

Crap. I look at my feet. She hits me. "You didn't! Christian Aaron!"

"We're headin' over to my parents place now—plenty of time." That's not good enough for her; she hits me again. "Ow! Will you stop that?"

"No," she says smirking.

"Ya know, it's none of my business, but why don't you get him to ask you?" The Brady guy suggests, unhelpfully.

"No. It ain't your business," I tell him.

"Don't mind him Brady, he's just in a bad mood, you know it's not a bad idea," Caroline says.

"I'm the Winchester, I'll do the asking."

"So Colts can't ask people out?"

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm a Winchester; you have no idea what's expected of us."

"I think I have a notion, my big brother married one, remember?"

"I remember. If he hadn't, my life would've been so much easier."

She chucks a hunk of cornbread batter at me and gets my shirt. "Caroline!"

Of course she laughs. "That'll teach you. Here." She tosses me a cloth.

"Now I gotta show up looking like this? My father's gonna kill me."

"Brady Darling, you mind switching shirts with him?"

"Not at all, Lynnie," he says starting to remove the shirt that's as least three sizes too small for him.

"Keep your shirt," I say. "He's not gonna like that one any better. I'll borrow something from Castiel."

I leave those two to do whatever it is those two are doing here, dropping the beer bottles in the recycling on the way out. I take the hat off when I get in my car to make it easier to drive and sit it on the passenger seat; it's like he's sitting beside me. And as I head to Mom and Dad's, I can finally let my whole face break into a smile—I just spent the morning with Dallas Colt and he gave me his hat.

GUW~

I sleep for a bit, but looking after Dean's got me wired, so I'm up before long. I stop by the room to check on my pair. Dean's socked feet are smooshed into Papa's belly, while the rest of him is splayed out on my side of the bed. Cas has one hand reaching out toward Dean, but it doesn't quite reach him, they're both out cold.

I decide to go out and chat with Clyde and Claire, but neither of them are anywhere to be found. Ladies and gentlemen, Sam Winchester has stumbled upon something he doesn't get much of: Free time and as per usual, I don't know what to do with it when I've got it. Probably for as long as I live, I'll need Cas's coaching in that department.

I think about what he would want me to do and remember the hammock out back, just because I can't sleep, doesn't mean I can't rest, so I make myself a Daddy drink and head out back with a book.

I'm all set up and I'm a little ways into my book when I hear giggling. "Ben…Ben, you best get your hands off me, if anyone from my family finds them there they'll remove'em."

I almost fall out of the fudging hammock; I do drop my book. That's Clarabelle, she's home early.

"Then we best go inside, Claire," says a husky voice, with an accent that's not from here.

I can't see them, the hammock is a small ways off from the back door, which they're clearly trying to sneak into, but I can hear them quite well; they're kissing, no, not just kissing; making out.

Clarabelle laughs again. "I'd better check no one's home—Daddy's car isn't here, but Castiel might be, my brother'll cut your balls off just the same."

Oh God. I don't know whether I should stop them, or keep hiding. Either option is bad, I've heard too much. How is it I'm the one ending up in these situations, lately?

I decide to save her butt. If Cas catches her, it's going to start a Winchester world war, since I'm going to take a wild guess that Clyde doesn't know about this boyfriend of hers. I mean, I'm going to have to mention something to Cas, but I'll be able to do so in a way he won't completely freak out and if all else fails, I can distract him with sex.

I flip out of my hammock, Daddy time gone, but I do bring my drink.

"Hey Clarabelle," I say walking up slow.

Her eyes go wide. "Sam?"

"Yep. Howdy and you are?" I say to her friend.

"Benny Lafitte, sir."

"I reckon I am a little older than you, but you don't have to call me, sir. Save that one for Clyde. I'm Sam Winchester, the husband of the man who probably will remove your balls if he catches you two."

It's a good thing Benny doesn't look the kind to scare easily; he can tell I'm not mad and smiles. "Nice to meet you Sam Winchester. I should probably be on my way. Call me later, Bells."

"I will, suh."

Cas's sister is a beauty. She looks a lot like Claire, with a ton of red in her brown hair, but with the blue eyes like her brothers. Half the county want to date Clarabelle and Caroline, but it looks like at least one of them is off the market; I think Clarabelle is smitten with this Benny guy. He seems nice enough, but she's still got to get him by _all_ of the Winchesters. Not for the first time, am I glad I was already _in_ before Cas and I got serious; I wouldn't want to be Benny, especially since this is Clyde's little girl we're dealing with. Let's just say, she's the only one that gets to call him 'Daddy' to his face.

"Sam, brother, it's good to see you," she says opening her arms for a hug.

I hug her with my drink in one hand (I think I'm going to need another) and book in the other. "You'd better say something to Cassy, sweetheart. You know I can't keep this secret from him."

"I swear I will, Sammy. Just 'till dinner? I'm going to ask my father to let him in the family."

That's risky. It toes the line of 'meddling in love lives.' Cas isn't one to let people off on technicalities. "All right, dinner. But I am telling Cas there's something on the plate—what were you thinking bringing him here, Sugar?"

"Oh, pishaw! I've brought Benny here plenty without anyone knowing a thing," she says with the air of a Winchester. She is a smart one, she could do it and obviously has. "Well, c'mon and finish that drink with me," she says taking over the situation. "I'll go fix myself something and we'll have us a visit."

~GUW~

Dally is the first to show up. "How's Dean?"

"Still asleep with Cas," I say. "You want to join Clarabelle and I for a drink?"

"Sure. Christian's on his way," he says with high eyebrows, clearly referring to our conversation earlier. I smile, but don't say anything.

"Howdy, Clarabelle. How's school?" Dally gets into a conversation with Clarabelle as Cas and Dean make their post nap appearance. Dean's still sleepy and holding Tigger tight, soother in place; looking miserable.

"Wow, looks like I'm missing a party," he says passing Dean to me, he quickly clings on. "He wants the 'icky sticky' stuff off—he's pissed. I didn't know if we could take it off; I changed his diaper," Cas updates me before he moves over to greet his sister.

Dean rubs his eyes and tugs out his soother. "We's takes it off now, kay Daddy?"

"Soon, baby." I check the time. Another hour.

My response does not please the crowd, but he doesn't complain, well not to me. He stuffs his soother back in his mouth and mutters some mumbo jumbo to Tigger.

"I'll be right back, I think I need a Daddy drink too," Cas says.

Dally's catching up with Clarabelle, they're close in age and went to high school around the same time.

"Daddy?" Dean says when Cas is gone.

"Yeah, Dean Bean?"

"It's soon?"

It's been like twelve seconds.

"Not yet sweetheart. Daddy will let you know. You hungry?"

"No." Looks like the nap did nothing to improve his mood, but he sounds a little better.

"Hey there precious, I haven't seen you in a year. You've grown," Clarabelle says. Dean loves Clarabelle, he thinks she's pretty, but he's too pissed to be overly polite or shy.

"Dean isn't good," he grouches.

"I hear you're sick."

"Am." He curls back into me, not much of a conversationalist at the moment.

"Hey there half-pint. You want Uncle Dal to build you a sick-guy fort for you and Tigger later?"

"What's that?"

"It's a secret boy cave with healing powers."

"Yeah. Dean needs that Uncle Dal."

"Done."

Dean doesn't smile, but he's less pissed, so that's something. Thank the lord for Uncle Dal. Christian is next. When he walks into the backyard, where we're all sitting, Dally looks at him a bit funny.

"Howdy, Clarabelle," he says and kisses his sister hello.

"Hey big brother. What happened to your shirt?"

"An unfortunate cornbread incident. Castiel around Sam? I need a new shirt."

"Shirt?" Cas says coming back out to the deck.

"Yessir."

"Come with me." Cas leaves his beer on the table and Christian follows behind looking apprehensive."

Dean can't help himself being fascinated with Auntie Clarabelle. "Auntie Bell?"  
"Why yes, Dean 'Chester?" He told her 'his' name on a phone call once and she thought that was the sweetest.

"Youse is gonna come to my birthday?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

"Papa says I get cake. An', an' a big piece."

"Wow. Sounds like it's bound to be a special day."

Christian comes back with a beer and one of Cas's shirts looking just the slightest bit sheepish. Three guesses as to what Cas talked to him about, but I really only need one.

Christian takes the only empty seat left, which is next to my brother.

Cas is talking to Clarabelle, so he's involved and doesn't hear, what's going on, on the other side of the table, but I'm in the middle, so I get a good dose of each conversation. Since Clarabelle and Cas aren't as interesting as Dal and Cas, I pretend I'm listening to the former, but obviously I'm really listening to the latter. "Hey, cowboy. Where's your hat? Last I checked, there's still sun out here," Dal says.

"Oh, uh, I left in the car."

"Well go get it. I give you a hat, I expect you to wear it, Sur."

"Yeah, uh, be right back," Christian says. I can just spy him out of the corner of my eye, looking a mixture of embarrassed and excited.

I don't think too much of that, other than it's real sweet that Dally gave him one of his hats, but when I see _which_ hat, I start a bit. Christian's got on Dal's white, Kenny Chesney Stetson, the one he caught the last of his concerts he went to. "That's better," Dal says catching the brim with his hand as Christian sits. "Don't want you to burn, Sugar."

Us Colts and even a Winchester or two are known to throw around the word 'sugar' a lot and sometimes for any old one, but the way he says that, anyone can see Christian's not any old one; he's flirting, hardcore.

Christian is trying hard not to smile too wide, but I see the corners of his lips tugging and notice that he stares at Dally for just too long. When he sits back down, somehow Dally's left foot finds its way to real close together to Christian's right foot, almost playing side by side footsies, but they're both sitting in such relaxed positions, you'd never know, unless you were me, reading too much into everything.

But even if Christian is trying to make out like he's relaxed, he's anything but. I've known his brother too long; Christian and Cas look the same when they're nervous and pretending not to be. The two are a lot alike in fact, especially when it comes to being particular.

Dal is classic Dal. I think he's caught on by now that Christian _does_ like him, or is in the least attracted to him, so he's having fun in that cool, relaxed manner Dally's known for.

"Daddy, it's later yet?" Dean grumps at me. It's hard not to laugh at him when he's so cute. I check the time and we're pretty close.

"Yeah. It's later sweetheart." I lift him with me as I stand up. "Be back guys."

"Dean doesn't like this and wants it off for good, Daddy," he complains all the way, he's even less impressed when he sees we're in the bathroom for the second time today. "No more baths, right Daddy?"

"No more baths. How did you think I was going to get the stuff off you? Magic?" I say tickling him a little.

"Dean doesn't know Daddy."

"You sound a lot better. You may not like the icky sticky, but it's helping you."

I sit him on the counter; take his shirt off and use a cloth to wipe away the poultice, I do the same to his feet. "Is the same for Tigger?" he asks holding up his stuffed companion.

"Here, allow me to take Tigger's off too—how is our pal Tig?"

Dean shakes his head. "Tigger isn't nice Daddy. Dean doesn't say those words, else youse is gonna be mad."

Dear Lord. "Is Tigger being a grouchy sick guy?"

"Yeah, Daddy.

"You behave yourself, Sur," I say to Tigger. "Else I'm going to have to put you on the naughty step."

"Tigger can go on the naughty step?" Dean says shocked.

"Indeed he can, Sur. You best make sure he behaves, especially at Gramma and Grampa's house."

He thinks about that as I pretend to wipe a poultice off of Tigger. When Dean's all poultice free, I take him back to his room and put his overalls back on him. He's a little more lively, but he's still coughing a bit. He's not at his usual level of mischief, but he does wander around the table when we return asking questions to his aunts and uncles. When he's giving me the bored signals, I decide I know just who can keep him busy for a bit, while I enjoy another Daddy drink. "Dean, come see Daddy for a second, sweetheart."

He comes over and I get him to blow his nose for me. "Here, Sugar. How about you call Michael?"

That puts a big smile on his face. I dial the number via facetime, but I give the phone to Dean, he takes off to sit in the grass and I let Michael entertain him for as long as the pair can go without bickering.

~Chris~

My heart's beating so I can scarcely breathe. I no longer think I'm imagining things, Dallas is _flirting_ with me, but do you think I can return the favor? No. It's taking my everything not to move my foot away. I'm really excited and really nervous at the same time, but here's my new problem, the one that didn't occur to me until he started in at me: So let's say I get the date with Dally, what in the all hell do I do with him?

I haven't spoke with him since I stupidly fumbled over my words about the damn hat. I can't believe I left it in the car. I didn't mean to, that just _happened_ , I didn't want it to look like I wasn't appreciative of his gesture, but I'm sure that's exactly how it looked. He was trying to do something nice for me and like the idiot I am, fucked it up royally.

But being quiet is just furthering that mistake and people are going to start to wonder about me if I don't say anything soon. I'm usually quite boisterous. I wish Caroline was here—she makes me feel comfortable.

I look over at my brother. What would he do? He's much better at this kind of stuff than I am. He seems to know how to take charge with Sam. How do I take charge of this situation with Dallas?

Speaking of my brother, he somehow knows I like Dallas, and I got the warning to mind my yes sirs and yes ma'ams so to speak. He doesn't believe I've done nothing and I guess he's right. Our little guitar duet wasn't nothing, but can you really call it something? I don't know. Right now I got more immediate concerns. I have to make a move since he's made plenty; he must think I don't like him back, but what?

I'm still drawing blanks when I hear my little nephew talking to his little friend.

"Dean isn't havin' a nice," sniffle, "time Michael."

Oh right. Michael. I think I remember hearing something about a Michael. I really oughta go out there more often. Most of the times I've been out that way, I've barely had time to stop in for dinner. Guess I've missed meeting the kid, it sounds like he's important to Dean by the way he's pouring his sweet little three year old heart out to the kid.

I can't really make out what this 'Michael' is saying, I'm too far away, but there's a pause then Dean says, "because I's sick and Daddy put icky stuff on me, an', an' on Tigger."

Whatever Michael says, Dean giggles at and I can't believe it; Dean's looked ornery all afternoon. "Youse is silly. Tigger does behave himself Michael, else Daddy will put him on the naughty step."

That makes me smile. Gosh I love Dean, he's real cute. "You should hear about all the things Tigger does," Dallas says from beside me and I jump a little then blush at being so jumpy.

"Yeah? Like what?" I say without thinking.

Dallas rolls his eyes. "One night when brother Cas was away, Tigger," he says putting Tigger in air quotes, "ran away and Dean had to find him before he could possibly go to bed. When we did 'find' him, after looking all over the gosh darn house, and it's a pretty big house, he was under Dean's bed. Dean claimed that Tigger told him he was trying to be a ninja."

I laugh. "You'd think you guys would think to check under the bed—that seems obvious."

"Well, um…" He looks embarrassed.

It hits me. "Don't tell me you and Sam were afraid to look because of spiders?"

"Well, uh…" he says again.

"Dallas Colt!" I slap my leg. "He had y'all's number."

He's chagrined now. "Yeah. He's a smart little devil. Cute, but wiley. He also got a hold of a black marker one day and drew all over himself—Tigger did that too of course."

"Yeah? What else?"

He tells me a few other Dean and Tigger stories and we laugh together when we hear Dean say to Michael, "no! Tigger is so, 'sponsible!"

"Well he sure is cute. I should visit more. I can come fend off the big bad spiders."

"Don't those things give you the heebe jeebees?"

"Naw. I mean, I'm not gonna have one as a pet, but they don't bother me none."

Dallas is staring at me this time, openly _wondering_ at me and biting his damn lip. I want to bite his damn lip. Now, I should ask him now. Dallas, will you go to the fundraiser with me? It's just that easy.

"Michael? Youse can come see your Dean yet? Is a long, long time."

Aw Jeez. "That breaks my heart," I say to Dallas.

He sighs. "Me too. Those two…but there's nothing to be done about it."

I'm staring at Dean; he looks pissed. "Well, Tigger comes to punch your papa."

Dallas looks up at Sam, who's laughing at something Clarabelle said, not hearing what his 'Dean Bean' just threatened, so I guess that means he's got leave to take care of Dean. "Excuse me a sec, Chris. Excuse me, Sur, what did I just hear?"

"Bu' but, Dally, Michael's papa isn't nice," sniffle, "Michael needs to see his Dean 'Chester."

"I know, half-pint. But we're not going to make threats to punch anyone, y'hear?"

"Is Tigger, Uncle Dal."

It's hard to keep from laughing, I don't know how Dallas keeps a straight face. "Tigger's takin' a trip over my knee if I hear that again. You'll tell him won't you half-pint?"

It's wrong. So wrong. But those words, _a trip over my knee_ send a shiver down, straight to my cock. I'm a bad person. He's chastising my nephew, I shouldn't be having these thoughts, but believe me, my thoughts are only of Dallas and spanking. Oh god, I have to take a deep swallow and drink some beer.

"Dean'll tell him, Uncle Dal. You isn't nice, Tigger…"

When Dean's attention is back on Michael, it's safe for Dallas to laugh and he does. "Lord have mercy, that's hard. Sam and I let him get away with murder most of the time, but there are some things that just don't fly for us—that's one. He's just too little to be making threats, they'll be plenty of time for that when he's a teenager."

"I guess you look after him a lot, you're real good with him too—he must consider you like a third Father."

"Don't know. I'd be honored if he did—don't tell anyone, but Dean's my favorite."

"Dean's everyone's favorite," I smile. "Even Father can't seem to get enough of him. It's always Dean this and Dean that, even when Dean's not around. It's real nice."

Dean runs up to Dally in his little overalls with the phone in his hand. "Dally, Michael forgets the peanut song, youse can sing it to him?"

Dallas is biting his lip again and I'm curious as to why, until he apprehensively starts singing this, 'peanut song.' "Found a peanut, found a peanut, found a peanut last night. Last night I found a peanut, found a peanut last night."

"Thanks, Uncle Dal."

Dean scampers away. "Hey! That's the same tune as—"

"The Clementine song, I know. The song's actually just as bad, but I only sing him that verse and those ain't the right words anyway—he likes songs with peanuts in them, like the peanut butter and jelly song, Sharon, Lois and Bram sing."

"Who?"

He laughs at me. "You don't spend too much time around kids, do you?"

"I do too. Just because it's not as much as you Colts who're practically swimming in kids—"

He laughs at me, _again_. "Don't take offense, I didn't mean anything by it, Sugar."

And everything was going so well, too—I haven't felt nervous in at least fifteen minutes. Dammit. I just don't want him to think I'm no good at kids, I can tell he probably wants a whole ball team of them. "Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I…I'm going to get some water, you want some?" I remember to offer this time.

"Love some," he says deciding to forget what a dick I just was a moment ago. He stands up. "But I'm coming with you.

~GUW~

"You don't sound good. Are you sure Daddy Winchester did the Colt remedies right?"

"Yah he did. Dean feels better, Michael and Tigger too."

"I don't trust that mangy, stuffed, cat. I'm glad he's alive, but he's trouble."

"A-course he's alive."

"Yes, well, not for long with the escapades he goes on—you listen to your daddies while I'm not there and not Tigger."

I giggle. "I always listen. Ine a good boy."

"The jury is still out on that one, but I'll take your word. I don't like you being so far away from me duckling."

That makes me laugh too. "What's so funny about what I just said?" Michael asks offended.

"Can't be a duckling from far away."

"Yes you can. You're my duckling no matter where you are; remember that."

"Youse is silly Michael."

"I'm glad I can amuse you. What are you doing now?"

"Don't know. Everyone's drinking Daddy drinks, I'm with Tigger."

"What? Why those irresponsible…can't trust…your nose is running."

I take a big sniffle, then use the back of my hand to wipe the snot from my nose. "There."

"Not acceptable Dean. Yuck. I meant for you to find a Kleenex _and_ a parent. Where's your uncle Dallas?"

"You want me to find him?"

"Please. If your daddies aren't going to look after you properly, I'll find someone who will."

Maybe I shouldn't have told Michael about the Daddy drinks. I decide not to tell him that Dally's had some too. I make my way inside from the back deck, which leads into Gramma and Grampa's kitchen and hear Uncle Dal's laugh, the one he uses when he thinks something's hilarious.

"You don't slice'em in chunks Chris, best in circles."

"Yessir, Clinton Kelly."

Uncle Dal lightly hip checks Uncle Christian for that jibe. It looks like they're making a pitcher of cucumber water for everyone and that they really like each other, a lot. Uncle Dal's got a permanent smile on his face. He is always smiling, but not quite like that. Uncle Christian may be acting cool and detached, but it's easy to see he's hanging off Uncle Dal's every word.

Now that I'm here, I can make their time that much better. "Uncle Dal?"

"Half-pint? How did you escape everyone's notice?"

"I found, Uncle Dally, Michael," I tell him, mission accomplished.

"Good. I need to speak with him."

I walk over to Uncle Dal and reach up so he picks me up, when I'm settled on his hip, I show him Michael. "Michael wants to talk with you."

"Howdy, Michael."

"What's this about everyone drinking Daddy drinks and not watching Dean? Especially when his organs are in mortal peril."

"It's just a few Daddy drinks, we're bringing out water now. I've got Dean, I promise I'll keep two eyes on him and he's not in mortal peril, Michael. It's just a cold. He's more miserable than anything else. That make you feel better?"

"Marginally, but I guess it will have to suffice. Please pass on that if this happens again, I'm applying for custody."

Uncle Dal laughs. "You think they're going to give a twelve year old custody of a three-year-old?"

Michael scowls at him. "No. Obviously not, but it will relay to them my displeasure."

"Okay Michael. I'll tell them. How about y'all say goodbye now, Dean?"

"Bye, bye Michael."

"Please wipe his nose properly for him, Dallas."

"I will Michael."

"I thank-you, Dallas. Goodbye Duck."

We hang up Daddy's phone, which I may have gotten snot on. Uncle Dal sits me on the counter, leaving me with Uncle Chris. "Be right back Half-Pint, I'm just going to get you some Kleenex."

"What you doing Uncle Chris?"

"I'm trying to cut 'proper' cucumber slices, for your uncle…and I thought I was particular."

Yeah. Colts are particular about serving stuff to people. "You want one?"

I shake my head. "Yuck. I's can cut some Uncle Christian?"

"Uh…do your daddies let you use knives? I'm pretty sure you're too little."

"No they, don't," Uncle Dal says coming back with a Kleenex. "Blow for me Half-Pint."

I do. "But Ine a big boy, Uncle Dal."

"Not big enough for that, but nice try. Speaking of big boys, do you have to pee?"

"No thank-you Uncle Dal."

"No? Don't you want to show your uncle Chris what you do with the Cheerios?"

Rats. That makes me kind of want to show him—I like showing off and what Daddy did with the icky sticky stuff (even though I didn't like it) really helped make me feel better. I'm still yucky, but a whole lot less yucky.

"Okay, Dean can show him. You will pee with me?" I say meaning both of them. I like peeing with someone better, then we can have a laser battle!

Both of them look uneasy about that. "Yeah, um, I'll try with you Dean, but I'm sure your uncle Dal's done it lots of times, he doesn't have to."

"Yes, he does," I say.

Uncle Dal smoothes my hair back like Daddy always does. "It's okay, Half-Pint. I'll pee with you."

We're about to abandon the cucumber water assembly station, when Papa comes in. "Sam said he saw him come in this way, and he was sure you were here, but I wanted to come make sure."

"Yep. We're going to have a pee, aren't we Half-pint?"

"Dean's going to pee with Cheerios, Papa."

"Okay. I'll tell Daddy."

He steps back outside and we head up to the toilet. Why are they both so fucking quiet? It's just peeing. We get there and Uncle Dal drops some Cheerios in the toilet. There's already a box in the cupboard; when I peed with Eddie, Daddy told me Gramma put them there just for me. I love how much she fucking loves me. Gramma's the best.

Dally helps me take off my overalls and my diaper, that means I'm naked, but it's just easier that way. Michael's not kidding with his complaints of me getting pee everywhere; it's true, but it doesn't mean he has to fucking say it so often. I climb the step stool. Then there's this strange, unspoken, 'you go first' sort of moment between the two of them. They're both looking at each other like they've forgotten how to undo their pants, or maybe like they really don't want to.

"Hurry up, guys. Dean doesn't have all day." I learned that from Papa.

They both laugh at me and look at each other again. "Ever watched Forty Year Old Virgin?" Uncle Chris says to Dal.

"No."

"They claim a flick to the, uh, testicles works. I've never tried it because well, because, what guy would want to do that to himself?"

What the fuck are they talking about?

"Desperate times?" Uncle Dal says.

Uncle Chris nods. They both unzip their pants and flick at a specific spot over their underwear…then both bend over in pain. Whatever they did, it looks like it fucking hurt. "I's has to do that Uncle Dal?"

"No…sweetheart. Don't do that."

Thank God. They're both insane. Finally, they both pull out their penises and we pee together. Uncle Chris really gets into it and is a lot more fun than Michael, trying to get my and Dally's Cheerios. I laugh and Uncle Dal does too.

When we're done, Uncle Dal helps clean me up and put a new diaper on me, then my overalls; I blow my nose again. Even though Uncle Christian doesn't help with the 'taking care of me parts' much, I think they're fun to hang out with together—I see there's potential, so much I decide to ask, "Uncle Dal? Uncle Christian helps us to build the sick-guy fort later?"

"That's up to Uncle Chris, Half-pint."

"Sure, Dean. I'd like that."

The pair are quiet all the way back down to the kitchen and they send me back outside alone. "Hey Dean, how about you go see Daddy? We're going to bring the cucumber water out for everyone, okay?"

"Okay, Uncle Dal," I say, but I'm not stupid. I've just been ditched. Don't mind though, I've got Tigger, so I decide to go on an adventure to find Daddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On_Wednesdays_We_Wear_Pink says we need a ship name for Dally and Chris. Here are her suggestions: 
> 
> #Challas, #Dalstian, #Chrisllas, or #Distian.
> 
> Majestic Duck just submitted #Chally which I like too; had to put it on the table...


	10. The Short Adventure of the Dean and the Tigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit Dal and Chris heavy, but it's all marked and as I said will not involve plot points (so you can skip right over). However, b/c these characters are so intertwined into this story, some of that is bound to overlap and plot points are bound to get brought up within their sections. I will usually have another character reiterate in their words, in their section if that happens. I promise not all the chapters will be so heavy with them (unless you want me to, 'cause believe me I can do that).
> 
> The vote on a ship name was too skewed to call, even though yes, technically the most votes went to #Dalstian, but I believe in Majority votes and that didn't happen, so I can't call it on that. Instead, feel free to hashtag them as you like with your shipname of choice!! I'm going to have to go with #Chally myself, b/c I call Dallas, Dally too often in my head.

Chris and Dally

Soon as Castiel gives Dallas a wave that he's seen Dean and's got his eye on him, we head back inside, and I'm slammed into the nearest wall. Dallas's lips are on my lips, he's mad and wild as he kisses me. Then, there's tongue. Dallas Colt's tongue has just made its way into my mouth, I respond, tangling mine with his, but I'm a whole lot more tentative than I usually am. See, I'm usually the Dallas in this situation, attacking men unexpectedly with my wild tongue.

We're both pent up though. After an afternoon of flirtations, which ended up in the both of us having to view each other's cocks, we need release. "Bed…bedroom?" Dallas says between kisses.

"Yeah," I breathe. I grab his hand and pull him into my bedroom. I don't live here anymore, but my parents keep my room for me, I don't think they'll ever take it down. The room Castiel and Sam sleep in, is the same room he used when he lived here. Mother can be sentimental and Father indulges her.

When we get to my room, he shuts the door softly behind him, then he's on me again. All day my boner's been about Dallas and fuck do I want him, so when he starts peeling my shirt off, I let him; his hat falls off my head and he picks it up. "We don't want to lose that," he says fixing it back on my head. "I've been picturing you fucking me with that hat on since I gave it to you."

Holy fuck. He has? And Dallas Colt just said 'fucking,' I think that's got to be the sexiest thing God put on this Earth. "Well I can't disappoint," I say.

Next I know, my jeans are being undone, frantically. We don't feel like we have much time, there are too many people here to not be interrupted at some point. It's not like we're not _allowed_ to have sex, since we're adults, but we're not exactly dating, we're not exactly anything in this moment, other than two dudes who want to fuck and that's not something you want to have to explain to families. Especially when each of you is a member of said family and neither of you would know just how to explain yourselves. 'We were really horny,' just ain't gonna fly in this particular case, the chief reason being how Castiel already threatened to tan my hide if I 'seduced' Dallas and left him. I think it should have been the other way around seeing as Dallas is doing most of the seducing.

He slides my jeans down, looking up at me while he does, admiring and I have no idea why a guy like Dallas Colt would want to admire me. I mean, I know I'm good looking, I ain't stupid, but it takes a lot more than good looking to be looked at like that and I just ain't it.

I step out of my jeans as he slides each leg off, my hands on his thick, shoulders. He leaves my underwear on as he makes his way back up my body, just sliding his finger under the waistband, teasing, then pulling me in by the small of my back to kiss me again.

Now his shirt's finally on, I want it off again, so I bravely reach to the hem and tug it off, his shoulder length hair following as I pull it over his head, then poofing back down around his face, that strand that annoys me falling and shielding his pretty left eye from me. I reach out and tuck it behind his ear for him like I did earlier today and it's real funny, but that still seems a whole helluva lot more intimate than me standing here before him in nothing but my underwear. I toss his shirt to the floor.

It's my turn to admire, but I don't just admire, I marvel at the thickness of his gorgeous torso and yeah I saw it earlier today, but it's different now, I'm allowed to look and even if this ends up being just an afternoon of casual sex, it's mine for the moment. I have to reach out and touch his chest. When I do, he grabs my hand and presses it flat. "You feel that? My heart is beatin' so fast, Chris. I never felt like this before. I'm terrified right now."

He…he is? I swallow, my mouth is completely dry despite the fact I had his wet tongue in there only moments before. "You don't gotta be scared. It's just me." I smile soft at him and hope it relaxes him—'cause there's no way in hell I'm going to relax and someone's gotta be in this situation; I'm sorta looking to him for that.

"Just you, _Christian_ Winchester," he says like I'm someone important. My hand's still over his heart and suddenly I do feel important. Something about the way he's looking at me gives me courage, _just_ enough, to lean in and kiss him some more, pulling him in by the nape of his neck, threading my hand into those sandy blonde locks I've wanted to tug on all day. As I kiss him, I slide my hand down off his chest, he slowly lets go of that hand and slides them around my waist, as I deftly use one hand to pop the top button of his jeans open.

Our frenzied panic returns and he's helping me get him out of his jeans. They're loose and fall to the ground easily once they're undone, having just barely been clinging to his hips in the first place. I don't think Dallas knows just how sexy he is especially wearing the kinda stuff he does.

I turn him around so his back is facing my bed and slide my hand down, inside, his underwear, so I can squeeze the meat of his ass cheek. It's firm and solid in my hand with just the right amount of softness. Like everything else on Dallas, his legs are thick and muscular; I want them wrapped around me so bad. I'm still kissing him as he sinks down on the bed and he inches his way back as I remain positioned above him.

He sits up enough, so he can slip his fingers under the waistband of my underwear and removes them, revealing my cock, which is solid like it was before I flicked myself in the balls earlier. That sucked, but there was no way either of us was going to pee otherwise and I don't know about Dallas, but I sure as hell didn't feel like explaining that to Dean. I know he's a moddler, but from what I've seen, he doesn't seem to be wise to the ways of sex and such. Least I don't think so.

But now Dallas can see my cock in all its glory, hard and wanting him; already leaking with the thought; he looks impressed. "I think you should fuck my mouth with that cock, Sugar," he says.

Jesus Christ. He can't say stuff like that dammit, else this will be over before it starts. "I would, believe me I'd like nothing more, but then I wouldn't make it to fucking you with this here, hat on."

He smiles his Dallas smile then turns it down into a half pout. "Okay then cowboy, how about you get to riding me?"

That's when I realize, "dang, I've got a condom in my wallet, but no lube."

"Then you best get to work with the smart mouth of yours, Sur."

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I get rid of his underwear quick, which is a damn shame on the one hand, 'cause he looks so good in them—I think that's a new fetish of mine, Dallas in white cotton briefs that hug his ass. But on the other hand I get to see Dallas's cock, which holy hell, it's a site to behold and fits in with the rest of him; amazing and looking like someone sculpted what they thought was the perfect cock, outta clay. I hope to god this ain't a one time thing, I want to feel that cock in my ass, I want to suck it down my throat.

When his briefs are gone, he spreads his legs wide for me and I can't believe I'm about to lick his ass, but this I can do, this I'm good at, so I use both hands to part the cheeks of his beautiful ass and stuff my tongue inside. I make sure and get lots of saliva in there and alternate my middle finger with my tongue, then two fingers with my tongue, opening him. The sounds he's making above me are damnable—I'm going straight to hell for debauching this seraphic creature; yes I remember he started it, doesn't make me feel any less guilty. If I'm going to hell, I might as well do a good job getting there, so I continue doing the things he seems to like.

"Oh God, please Chris, I'm ready as I'll ever be."

I come up to kiss his lips quick. "Be right back." I find my jeans, then my wallet and pull out the condom and quickly roll it onto my dick; all the while still wearing the white Stetson.

I crawl back up him on the bed and kiss his neck then his lips, as I slid my cock inside of him. Immediately, his strong legs wrap around my torso, as I alternate between slow and fast strokes. "This what you wanted, Dals?"

"Uh-huh," he says all sex drunk.

I'm trying to hold out as long as I can, so as not to embarrass myself, but I ain't gonna last long, since I've been on the edge of wanting him all day. Thankfully, he's got no endurance either and he builds to a quick orgasm; praise the good Lord for small favors. We both release, moaning into each other's mouths, riding out our pleasure.

Jesus Christ, I just slept with Dallas Colt and it was unlike anything I've ever experienced in my entire life.

I pull out of him and make clean up quick, because by golly, I want to hold him.

I toss him a towel, which he wipes off with and I remove the condom and chuck it in the garbage. He tosses me the towel back and pillows his hands behind his head watching me clean off my cock. "Come back here, Sugar," he says and I realize why. That had been my plan, but suddenly, much of the nervousness I'd been feeling around him all day is back and I'm left just staring at him. Once again, he makes all the moves. _Jesus Christ, Winchester. It's like you've never done this before_. And I have, often enough.

I go to him though, thankful for his direction, cuddling onto his chest and feeling for once, like I belong somewhere. He removes his hat from my head, since it's already fallen part way off anyway and puts it to the side so he can card a hand through my hair. "I don't really do this, but I had to have you Sugar."

"Don't really do what?" I say with a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Have sex like this. Not that I never have, or never would, but I mean, we're not even dating, heck, I don't even know how that would work, we live so far apart."

God. Dear god. _Don't fucking cry, Winchester_. "Yeah, I don't know either," I say trying to play it cool even though I've already got a few scenarios I could suggest. "That was…"

"Damn amazing," he articulates my thoughts precisely. "And you know what I do know?"

"What's that Dals?"

"I want to do it again, but this time Sugar, I'm going to fuck you."

The shiver I get is fucking delicious and for now I'm not going to care that my heart's likely to get broken during this venture. I want him to fuck me. If it's a mistake, it's worth making…again. "Damn, baby. I don't have anymore condoms."

"S'okay," he says getting up and fishing around for his jeans. "I gotcha covered cowboy."

He holds up a condom like it's a prize he won at the county fair. "Well then, guess I'd better saddle up."

~GUW~

Papa sees me come out to the deck, but he doesn't get up. I assume he's got his eye on me, someone usually does. But he's the only one who can see me from his vantage point, Daddy's on the other side, he probably still thinks I'm with Uncle Dal.  
 __  
"What we gonna play Tigger? I know, how about find the Daddy?"

"Sure, Bud," he answers. Tigger's usually game for most stuff, except for when he has late nights. "Let's be those two dudes from that show, Merlin. I'll be Merlin and you be Prince Arthur," he says.

"Okay, but I'm not Prince Arthur, I'm Prince Dean; that's better." Then I realize, "if we're gonna play that game, I need my horse."

"You could go get it yourself," Tigger says.

"I don't think Papa will like that. I think Uncle Dally's busy."

"Ask your papa to get it then."

"But Daddy will see me."

"Wear that," he says pointing to a shirt that's left on the chair. I think it's Uncle Christian's. I stealthily pull it off the chair and wrap it around me, and head over to Papa; when I get to him, I tug on his shirt from the side, trying to stay out of Daddy's view.

"Dean?" he says way too fucking loud. Can't he tell I'm wearing a cloak?

"Shh. Papa—Daddy isn't supposed to see me," I say, but it's probably all ruined already. Papa isn't catching on.

"That's so weird Clarabelle," Daddy says. "I thought I saw Dean and Tigger by the door only seconds ago, but they seem to have vanished into thin air. Papa, why are you talking to a rock?"

I giggle, but not too loud. From the sounds of it, Daddy has zero clue I'm even here, it's probably because of my kick-ass disguise.

"Um, excuse me," Papa says. "I have to go inside a minute and if there are any rocks that want to come with me, they should do so."

I follow Papa into the house wrapped up in my disguise. "Are you trying to hide from Daddy, Kiddo?" Papa asks smiling.

"Yeah," I giggle. "He thinks ine a rock."

"He does."

"Dean and Tigger are going to play find the Daddy, but we needs Dean's horse. You will please get it Papa?"

"I can do that. C'mere and blow your nose, Kiddo. How you feeling?" he says feeling my head.

"Is okay, Papa."

I blow my nose for Papa and follow him to my room at Gramma and Grampa's house. He has to reach far back into my closet, but he gets my horse toy and I thank him. We head back outside.

Papa goes back to his chair; Daddy's none the wiser. "Now what?" I say to Tigger.

"Let's ride down to Miss Piggy's, I could use a shot of something good before we embark on this 'adventure.'"

I don't like the way he says that in fucking air quotes. "Yeah, okay." I hop on my horse and we head down to Miss Piggy's, which has now become a place that serves Daddy drinks. Tigger sits down and orders a Daddy drink then tries to get me to. "Dean can't have Daddy drinks," I tell Tigger.

He nods, not fucking caring if I have Daddy drinks or not, and downs a couple. "How is you supposed to do magic Tigger after too many Daddy drinks?" He's supposed to be Merlin.

He shrugs. "Don't worry about it kid."

Michael would never be so irresponsible when he's looking after me.

After a few more drinks and numerous attempts to ask Miss Piggy to be his date to my birthday (to which she shoots him down) Tigger finally agrees to get back on the horse to go in search of the Daddy, but by this time he's a little tuned. "Tigger, you isn't steering the horse so good."

"Relax, kid."

"Where we gonna go? I thought we were going to play find the Daddy?"

"We'll get to that. I saw something over there when we were driving around I think we should check out."

"That's pretty far from my daddies Tigger."

"We've got the horse. We'll be really fast. No one will know."

~GUW~

Chris and Dal come out of the house with cucumber water that took a fudging long time to make. They both look guilty as sin: They've had sex. Lordy bee. They're zero to sixty, but I will not get involved. I take a quick peek to see what Dean's doing, looks like he just went into his house with Tigger. I thought he was playing 'find the Daddy,' which he sometimes plays, but he's taking an awfully long time. I'm not surprised though; he's easily distracted.

Christian's still got Dally's hat and they're not holding hands or anything, but they're pretty close to one another. I am dying to hear the update. "The staff just kicked us out, they're starting dinner," Christian says.

"I just heard from Mother and Father," Cas adds. "Since we were all out, or asleep, they went to visit friends and they wanted to stop in and check on things at the hall, but they'll be back in about an hour."

Dallas starts laughing. "Hopefully that's after Caroline, leaves. Apparently she and her beau were hot and heavy in the kitchen."

I shake my head.

"Yep. He calls her, Lynnie, and everythin'. It's a real cowboy romance like in one of them Harlequin novels," Christian adds. Both Dally and Chris look at each other sharing some kind of private joke and both sit down in the chairs they were in before like nothing's happened between them.

"How is Caroline?" Clarabelle asks.

We get on the topic of Colts in general and I'm excited to hear about them. I haven't even seen my parents yet. "Have Jared and Jen arrived yet? I haven't heard from them," I say.

"They're held up," Dal answers and I get his meaning. "But they're doing their best to make Dean's birthday."

We're talking awhile, I look up to check on Dean, but I can't see him anywhere. "Cas, where was Dean last you saw him?" I'm already a little panicked, because he's not the taking off sort. If anything, it's the opposite, he's usually pretty careful to keep an eye on Daddy.

"Last I checked he was running across the field on his horse, that was about five minutes ago, I assumed he'd circle back up."

"Well he didn't," I say getting up. Everyone's up at that sentence and calling Dean's name, while I head in the direction Cas said he saw him go last. Thankfully my mini-heart attack doesn't have to last long. That's what it's like though, in just a split second, your heart can go from a moderate jog to pounding its way out of your chest, then back again. Dean's sitting in front of the blackberry bush and it looks like Tigger's stuck.

"Found him," I call to the rest who are scattered over the large backyard. "Dean? What are you doing?"

When he spins his head around, I can see what's he's been doing; in just a short time, he's managed to get blackberry juice all around his mouth and on his overalls. "Is, is, is eating berries Daddy and Tigger's stuck."

"Are you supposed to come over here to Grampa's blackberry bushes without someone, Sur?"

"Dean doesn't know."

Dean does know, but I don't mention it, just glad he's not dead in a ditch somewhere (which is where every parent's mind jumps to when their child is missing, even if it's only for a second). "Blackberry bushes are prickly. You could of hurt your fingers, baby," I say as I unsnag poor Tigger from the prickles—he's _full_ of blackberries; this will probably stain.

"But I likes them Daddy and Dean is careful," he says then demonstrates by plucking one off a low hanging branch and popping it in his mouth. I should be telling him off, but he's far too cute. He takes a big sniffle and wipes his nose with his blackberry stained hand. Poor thing.

"Here baby," I say and let him use the corner of my shirt to wipe his nose. "You look like a giant Deanberry," I say laughing. My shirt's got some blackberries on it too now.

That's when Cas joins up with us. "Dean! What are you doing all the way out here?"

Dean jumps just the slightest bit, because Cas hardly ever raises his voice; he doesn't need to. He only is now because he was panicked and is still high on the adrenaline from his worry. Dean grabs my leg and I lift him up, so he can curl into me. "S-sorry, Papa."

"He okay?" Cas says to me.

"He's okay, just full of blackberries."

Dean sniffles again, his nose running a little more now, he's not going to like this, but he needs another poultice. Cas hands me a Kleenex from his pocket and I wipe his nose again. "The only reason you don't have a spanked bottom right now is because you're sick."

"Uh-huh, Papa," Dean says. "Youse wants to hug your Dean 'Chester?"

The little manipulator…I have to try not to laugh, but I think he also senses his papa needs to feel his solid form, to know he's still here after that very short, but scary all the same episode.

"Come here, Blackberry 'Chester," Cas says pulling him out of my arms. "Is there even a little boy under all that blackberries?"

Dean giggles. "Is, Papa. It's me!"

"I don't think so, but I know how to find out. A blackberry wouldn't laugh if I did this…" Cas starts tickling his little armpits.

Dean giggles more. "See Papa? Is me; is me!"

Cas stops tickling him and Dean squeezes into him. "Is it just me, or is his nose running more than it was after his nap?"

"It's running more," I say. "We have to uh…" He catches on to what I'm saying without saying it. If I say the word poultice, I'm sure Dean will freak and yes, he'll freak as I'm doing it, but somehow it always seems better to prolong a freak out—it seldom is by the way.

"Fudge," Cas says,

"Yeah, and we have to do something about this," I say, holding up Tigger.

"Tigger is all full of berries. He got trapped," Dean explains. "Is his idea to eat the berries."

"And what does Daddy say about listening to Tigger?" I ask him.

"Not to, but it sounds fun, Daddy."

I shake my head at him. "C'mere Deanberry," I say taking him back, with Tiggerberry still clutched in my fist.

The rest having seen we found Dean, have already resumed sitting on the Deck. "I'll take care of this one Cas, you can relax, let your heart return to normal."

"It was only a second, but it scared me half to death," he admits.

Now's not the best time to tell him about Clarabelle, but it's getting closer to dinner and it may be the only time. "Cas, there's something you should know, it's about Clarabelle. She's got something she wants to tell your father, I found out by accident; she wants to tell you herself though. I told her she has 'till dinner to tell you, or I will. Was that okay?"

"Well I don't like it, and now I'm worried all over again, but to her benefit nothing seems as bad as what just happened. She's not in trouble is she?"

That's hard to answer. It depends on how you look at it; love can be lots of trouble. I decide to go with, "no, it's a good thing Cas."

He sighs. "I'm going to have another Daddy drink." He kisses Dean's forehead. "See you in a bit blackberry 'Chester."

~Chris and Dally~

I had sex with Dallas Colt. Holy shit. I'm still processing that and no, he's still not my date to the fundraiser—he's not my date to anything for the record. We both clearly enjoyed ourselves and neither of us have had enough; I already want to fuck him again and with the vibe he's been giving off, so does he.

But what he said has me worried. It sounds like it was just sex for him, which surprised the fuck out of me—I didn't think he did that, ever, but apparently he makes exceptions when the specimen is fine. And he's got at least one of the same doubts as me with the whole long distance thing.

In any case, I'm up the creek, because if you thought I liked Dallas before, multiply that by a thousand and worse, I feel like I've staked my claim. I don't think my Winchesterness will be able to stand anyone else touching him. What if he decides I'm just sex and he asks someone else? I'm likely to kill that person.

It doesn't help that everyone's caught wind of my own sexual escapades over the years—though I'm not as bad as everyone thinks, people's imaginations tend to run wild—but I'm not really known for my ability to settle down. That's true enough, but something about Dallas makes me want to and I'd rather Dallas know that than to think I never would settle down with someone. I just need the right someone for me.

It's after dinner now and poor little Dean looks miserable, so Dallas and I are going to build him some kind of fort, while Clarabelle's asked a private audience with Father, something I avoid often as I can.

"Is a sick-guy fort, Uncle Christian," Dean explains. "Dean has to get better in time to eat cake."

I have to laugh. A kid's only mission in life, to eat cake, must be nice. "Well I have it on good authority that you'll be sure to get your cake little Winchester," I wink at him. I'll sneak him cake if I have to. "So what do I do with this?" I say gesturing to the bed sheet in my hand.

He shrugs. "Dunno. Ask Uncle Dal."

"I'm here to report for fort constructin' duty, 'suh," I say like I'm some southern belle and blink my eyes. I feel far more comfortable to flirt with him, since the whole sex thing. "What do I do with this?"

Dallas smiles at me. "You best behave yourself, Sur. You wouldn't want to see what happens on this construction site to those who misbehave."

"Or maybe I do…"

I get whacked for that. "Youse is funny, Uncle Chris," Dean says.

"Yeah, you think so, Cowboy?"

"Uh-huh," he says lying down on a pillow that's on the floor and twirling his soother in his hand. He's down a Tigger. Gramma had to take him to be hand washed, since apparently there's a very hush, hush washing machine incident that happened a little while ago and no one trusts Tigger in there anymore.

"You gettin' tired half-pint?"

"No, Uncle Dal."

"Dean's never tired, is he?" Dallas asks.

"Never," Dean responds seriously. I laugh and Dallas shakes his head at me rolling his eyes.

We construct the fort around Dean on the pillow, and his bed, with me following Dallas's instructions. I've never built a little kid fort before, but I'm going to do my best. I want to be a good uncle for Dean; I don't exactly know how to do that either, but I'll take my best guess.

Dean's quiet all the while through, and by the time we're done, Dean's soother has found its way into his mouth and his eyes are closed, fast asleep on the pillow. "Aw. Lookit him, Dals."

"I know. Poor thing's tired. I'm gonna see if I can get him in his bed without waking him."

Sam already dressed him in pajamas and got him all ready for bed. He's out cold and Dallas gets him in bed without much trouble and we both give him a kiss on his head. "It'd be so cool to have one of him some day," Dallas says admiring him, it's clear by the look he's giving Dean how much he loves the little guy.

"Yeah? I'll bet you want an army," I whisper to him.

"That's what everyone thinks, and maybe I used to, but now, I'd even be fine with one—it worked out good for Sammy."

"What's wrong? You don't think you'll have at least one someday? Pretty as you are, someone's gonna wanna have a baby with you."

"Thanks, Chris," he says smiling, he shuts off the light to Dean's room, but we don't leave yet. "You, uh, stayin' for a bit?" he asks.

"Long as you are," I say hoping to lay on a bit of that charm I'm known for. It doesn't have the effect I want, he looks down then up at me again.

"I'm sorry about today, Christian."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah. I…we should go some place and talk."

I agree. I'm real interested in what he's got to say and I'm trying not to jump to conclusions, 'cept I've already jumped to a million of them; none of them good. I'm following behind Dallas, to wherever he's leading me and as we walk through the house we hear Father bellow, "Cas _ti_ el, to my office please."

Whoa. Hate to say it, but better him than me. He's far better at dealing with that voice than I am."

We don't bump into Castiel, but we do find Sam, he looks concerned. "Dean was out like a light, Sammy. We put him in bed."

"Thanks, Dal. Where you two off to?" he can barely suppress the mirth. I wish I could tell him not to bother, I'm likely being broke up with in a second. But can you break up, when you ain't even dating?

"Out front, then I'm taking off. Looks like stuffs about to get real interesting around here. Tell Cas's parents I say goodbye and thanks again for dinner?"

"I will and yeah. You could say that," Sam sighs. He's looking rough as Castiel was last night.

"I'm gonna take off too Sam, but I'll come by first thing. Maybe I can convince Dean to hang out with ol' Uncle Chris and watch cartoons, while his daddies take a load off."

"That'd be real nice, Chris. He'd like that."

They hug goodbye and I follow suit, then we head out to Dallas's truck. I've still got his hat, in case you were wondering. I took it off to eat, 'cause I'd get skinned alive for wearing a hat at the dinner table, but then I put it back on, since I didn't know what else to do with it. I guess I should give it back, but I don't really want to. I do know that I need to put some fucking Winchester armor up, because while I don't think Dallas is the kind to intentionally hurt my feelings, I'm pretty sure I'm about to get my feelings hurt.

Know what? I can't even hear it. I take off his hat. "Here. Take your hat and you don't need to give me any speeches about how you're sorry you slept with me. I'm not sorry, so there." If it's over, it's over right? Might as well say how I feel.

"Gosh, you don't even know do you?" is what he says and I have no idea what he means.

"Know what? Are you making fun of me?" That's when that damn strand of hair falls in his face again, and as if it's the most naturally thing in the world now, I tuck it behind his ear. "You really oughta pin that back or somethin'."

"Does it bother you?"

"No."

"It does."

"Fine, it does, but I don't want it to."

"No," he says shaking his head. "I don't imagine you do."

"Are you going to stop talkin' in riddles anytime soon? I've got places to get to y'know. Some people aren't sorry after sleeping with me."

"That what you think? I'm sorry about sleeping with you?"

"It's what you said."

"It's not what I said, Sur. If you'd of let me speak instead of making assumptions, you'd know."

"It's not? Well, what were you gonna say?"

"I shouldn't tell you, Christian Winchester. It's more than you deserve right now."

"It is," I say giving him my most charming eyes. "But, uh, will you kindly tell me anyway?"

"I was going to say, I'm sorry we started out that way, but only because I would have rather taken you out first. I like you, Chris. Very much."

He…he wanted to take me out? He likes me? A little voice that sounds an awfully lot like Caroline, tells me now would be a good time to ask him to the fundraiser, it's a voice I ignore.

"But you ain't sorry, no sense in wastin' my time feeling sorry," he says then grabs the hat out of my hand and tosses it into the back of his truck, then he slams me up against said truck; his lips press to mine and his tongue demands to be let in. I let it.

"You make me…you make me outta breath, baby," I say when he pulls away.

"I hope you like not breathing, 'cause my god you're addictive. I might have to kiss you a few more times before I let you go."

He pulls me in again, and our 'break-up' talk has quickly become a make-out session. I want him again. _Bad_. "Come to my place?" I say on impulse and hope to good god he doesn't turn me down. And I know, I know, I can ask him to my place for sex, but not to the damn fundraiser; don’t ask me the why of that.

"I'm sorry, Chris—"

"Dang it, Colt, why you sorry now?"

He laughs at me. "'Cause right now, all the blood's in my dick and there ain't no way I'm saying no to that."


	11. It's Dean's Party (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's party is going to be long and SO many Colts. SO many! Ah! So you won't have to for me to write the whole thing, I'm going to post in chunks. Hope you enjoy the Tom Foolery!
> 
> And seriously, thank you for loving Chally so much. I don't know what I'd do if y'all didn't because I can't stop thinking about them. But for the some of you who don't, I will still label those bits so you can skip.

~Chally~

We're both panting as I take him again, but I feel like he's taking me because he's sapping all of it from me; my heart and soul.

"Mmmmh…you're the best tasting thing Dals," I say kissing his lips and savoring. We were wild and frantic at Mom and Dad's, but now we're slow and taking our time.

"Bet you say that to all the guys, and gals. You are a smooth one Christian Winchester." He pulls me to him trying to get ever closer.

Right. He thinks I'm playboy extraordinaire, which is not entirely inaccurate. When we finish, I cuddle into him again and hope he's okay with that. What if it's the last time?

"So…are you okay with doing this again while I'm here? I'd be okay with a summer fling if you are."

That bad feeling is back, it fucking hurts to hear that he's just looking for a fling from me. I should say no and tell him the truth, but I don't. "Yeah, hey, me too. Could you imagine _us_ dating? That would be a disaster. We'd have Castiel looking over our shoulder all the time."

"And Sam too," he agrees. "He knows I don't do well with this kind of thing, so I typically don't do it. I'm willing to break the rules for you, Sugar. I ain't never had it like this. Besides, the distance between us will make it easy to have something casual." He steals another kiss. "We need to make rules though, we're both adult enough to manage this."

Except, I'm already in love with him, so I doubt it. If he knew that, I don't think he'd even consider doing this, since Dallas is smart and wise beyond his years. Far as he knows, he thinks I'm the king of sex without attachments.

He smiles at me and I shift my eyes to appreciate his body. Naked Dallas is a beautiful thing. I'll take any part of him, anything he'll give me, for as long as he'll give it to me. I can do this. "What kind of rules do you suggest?"

"Rule number one, we should keep it kind of quiet. Sam and Cas already know."

And Caroline, I don't say. Then he'll want to know why she knows and I'll have to admit to pining. "Fine by me."

"Rule number two, if it gets too much, we should stop, say if one of us starts to get serious feelings. We should tell each other immediately."

I swallow hard, hating lying to him, but this might be my only chance to be with him. "Yeah. Good idea."

"And obviously, no dating each other. Just sex."

In other words, no fundraiser. "Uh, yeah, of course."

"That about cover it?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it?"

"Aren't there any rules you'd like?"

"Not that I can think of now."

"Well if there is something, you can add it anytime. Nothing's set in stone."

I hope that's true. "Sounds good," I say and try to seal this deal by initiating another round of sex.

"Mmmh…wait, Chris, I want to ask you something, if it's not too personal."

"Shoot."

"I know how your family works. What side of the court do you fall on?"

Holy crap. I wasn't expecting that. "I…I…shit, that is personal, Dals." I don't like talking about that stuff. Dating without commitment means I usually don't have to get to that point, but I guess Dallas and I being related by family already makes us more to each other than a simple fling; that bolsters me some.

"You don't have to answer, you don't owe me anything, just, I find the dynamic fascinating. I ask Sam questions all the time, and sometimes brother Cas, but I only know their perspectives. I'd love to hear yours sometime."

Oh. "Isn't it obvious what side of the court I'm on? I mean, eventually, I'll want to discipline my partner—I just haven't found someone I want to do that with. And, uh, I guess you know that doesn't apply to us then?" Getting onto this topic reminds me why I don't do relationships. You know? Summer sex with Dallas sounds a whole lot more appealing. I feel like he can see right through me.

"It's okay, Sugar," he says running a hand through my hair. "I didn't mean to upset you, just askin'. But it is too bad you fall on that side of the court, I've been told I give a mighty fine spanking."

Good Lord. Why did he have to go and say something like that? I can't help thinking of myself bent over his knee, my pants down and my underwear too…what would his hand feel like? What would he chastise me for? Is he even into that…wait, _is_ he into that? "Are, are you like that? I mean, like them? Do you fall on a side of the fence?" My heart gets a bit hopeful.

"No."

My hopeful heart sinks.

"I mean, not exactly. I'm not actively looking for that in a relationship, though I gotta tell you, I can see the attraction, it sure makes things easier. But of course I'm open to it and have thought about it a lot. I think I'm like you, which will make this whole fling business easier. I've tried both, as an experiment, I'm definitely the 'spanker' if I'm anything."

What? But he said he was like me and I'm…oh, right.

"If I'm comparing myself to Cas and Sam, I differ from Cas in that I'm not quite as much of a—"

"Control freak?" I supply for him.

"Now, now. Not that, I just…let me back up a second. I understand how physical pain can be used for release. I've taken some different courses on this subject in school since it's become kinda an interest of mine, I've even written a few papers on it. I understand well the boundaries thing too, it can be helpful to particular personality types. I feel like I could provide that for someone because it fits in with my personality type—Colts tend to be a special kind of 'control freak.' Sure, we're laid back, but get us organizing your Sunday dinner and then it comes out; make cornbread wrong and you get kicked out of the kitchen forever," he laughs. "In particular realms, we like to be in charge."

"But Sam..."

"Oh? You don't think Sam's in control? Look again Sugar. Much of what he does is for Cas. Sure, he's discovered over the years that spankings do help him, and because Sam's had the world on his shoulders his whole life, having Cas there to take all burden from him is healthy for Sam who can go way more 'Colt' than the rest of us, but Cas needs Sam just as much. I've watched for a long time; Cas having his rules followed soothes him. He doesn't deal with chaos well."

"Neither do I, I'm a lot like Castiel that way," I say proudly.

"You are; however, there are different ways of dealing with chaos and I reckon—from the research I've done—that it depends on the personality of the person."

"Huh. Well maybe I oughta read them papers sometime cowboy? Sounds interesting, might give me insight to my family. I don't understand them sometimes."

"Of course," he says with eyes that say he knows something I don't.

"But are we gonna sit here talking all night? Or, can I have you again?"

"There's no rule against number of times in one night, is there?"

"I sure hope not."

"Then let's see how many times we can have each other, before the sun comes up."

~Earlier That Night (Thursday Evening)~

I've heard that bellow before and I know it doesn't mean anything good. I head straight to father's office. Clarabelle's sitting in one of the large leather chairs in front of Father's desk with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Father looks livid. He doesn't invite me to sit down. I don't yet know if that means I'm in trouble, or if he expects me to help him berate Clarabelle for something; either way I'm guaranteed a game of Castiel in the middle. One of the reasons I'm not as close with my siblings as I could be; Father often pulls me into these debates, because I'm the next 'Head of the Winchester Family,' and I've got to give my answers, answers that heavily consider the Winchester Way and are explained in a manner my father will agree with. Otherwise, I'm likely to gain a spanking.

"Did you know about this?" he says, his eyes turned down. I understand how he feels. I don't like it anymore than he does when I feel like order in my home has been lost and that maybe things were done behind my back.

"I was recently informed to expect something, but not what."

"This will not go on in my home and under my nose. I should have been notified immediately."

"Forgive me Father, but I still don't know the what. Do you mind bringing me up to speed?"

"Clarabelle has a boyfriend. She would like him to attend Sunday dinners."

Oh. _Oh_. This is bad, but at least it's not Christian. Father worries the most about Christian, which is why he's always on his case. There's no way he'll allow just anyone to marry Christian, but there's also no way just anyone is going to marry his baby girl.

"And you are opposed?"

"Why are you not outraged?"

"Shouldn't we meet him before we're outraged?"

"I should have been notified before they were permitted to date, since she still lives at home."

Fuck. True and a point against me. That's one of Father's house rules. "Clarabelle, what have you to say about keeping this a secret?"

"I've already fessed up to breaking that house rule and will accept my spanking—"

"You most certainly will young lady," Father interupts.

"But I love Benny and I still would like him to come to Sunday dinners. I want to marry him someday, if Daddy will allow it."

Fuck my sister's smooth. She planned it this way. She's the better to ask forgiveness than permission type.

"I will not be taken for a fool in my own home, Castiel." Father isn't stupid, he knows what she's doing.

"He doesn't like what I did and that's fine," she says to me. "But I see no reason to take it out on Benny. You'll like him Daddy, I know you'll approve, or I wouldn't bring him home."

"That's not the point."

I face palm, this conversation is going to be impossible, Father's upset to the point he's unreasonable, Clarabelle is extremely reasonable and knows her points are supported by Winchester Way and therefore unchallengeable, she'll fight this one through. Maybe he shouldn't have sent her to law school. Though maybe I can work with that.

"I think we should deal with the first part of this; the broken rule," I suggest. "We should discuss Benny coming to Sunday dinners another time."

Clarabelle nods, already having come to the realization I have.

"Good idea son, but I want all parties involved punished. Who knew about this?"

God damn. That means Sam. "Sam only just found out today too, from my understanding it was accidental. I don't feel he should be punished for it."

"He should have told you immediately."

Father simply won't understand why Sam couldn't have, about Clarabelle wanting to tell me herself and I know Sam well enough to know he would have told me after dinner if she didn't. Sam was completely upfront as far as I'm concerned, but Father just won't see it that way. I am going to have a word with my sister later about involving Sam in this.

"He did tell me as soon as he could. I was only not made aware of the details; I feel he was as upfront as I required him to be. It's my fault for not pursuing him further, I had ample opportunity. Since I did not do my job, it is I that should be punished." There's no way I'm letting Sam get punished for this.

"Very well. You can be first Castiel."

Clarabelle gives me a sincere look of apology. I know she didn't mean for this to happen, I'm sure she thought her actions would only bring trouble for her; she's still got a lot to learn. At least maybe watching her big brother get punished will make her think things through more thoroughly next time.

I step up to Father's desk and undo my shorts and pull them off, so I'm left in just my boxer briefs. I pull those down next, and when I'm bare I lean over top of his desk ready to accept punishment. I can hear him remove his belt behind me. "This is as good as lying, Castiel. You should know better and I'm surprised you'd run your house in such a way. I expect better in future."

"Yes, sir." I haven't been spanked in a long time and Father knows it. He starts in on me lightly with ten to warm up my fresh backside, then I receive forty of his best and I promise, they are not pleasant. They hurt and I'm up on my toes every one after twenty. I find no release in spanking like Sam does, so the tears are just because it bloody hurts. For me, this is discipline pure and simple, which I see nothing wrong with. There was a time I didn't agree with all of my father's methods, but now that I have a son of my own, and from the years I've spent with Sam and some of our special communities, I see the benefit in loving discipline. I like the order it brings to my home; the same reason father is punishing me now.

"Thank-you Castiel," he says when he's finished. "This is over, but I expect you to talk to your husband about this, I also expect a change in behavior. You are dismissed."

I quickly pull up my boxers, but I leave my pants off. It's only Sam and Mother around anyway. Sitting isn't going to happen for at least two days as it is. Clarabelle's got tears in her eyes, for me.

"Thank-you Father."

Jesus, he's still good at that.

I reach the bedroom without bumping into anyone and pull out a pair of looser fitting boxer shorts. Sam enters mid change.

"Lordy bee, Cas. I know you weren't going to put those back on without dressing those welts properly, Sur. Lay on the bed."

"Sam—"

"Now."

In nothing but a t-shirt, I lay on the bed as he rummages around in the bag for our jar of special aloe he had Dr. Shaggy mix up for us. "What was this for, Cassy?" he asks as he begins rubbing the stuff in.

"Fuck that hurts. Where's Dean?"

"Fell asleep in his bedroom. Cas, the question?"

I sigh, 'cause I don't want to tell him. "The Clarabelle thing." I explain the whole thing to him. He's pissed at me and trying not to show it. I know because he goes all silent, but does this thing where he gives me snippets about how he feels in sharp, short words.

"Of all the…"

"Castiel Grace…"

"You should have…"

"Stubborn fool, Winchesters."

I 'Samuel' him on that one, because that one's a bit borderline.

"I'm sorry, but, I hate it Cas. I know this was your decision, but I don't like it. I should have been punished."

"Exactly. It was my decision. If I thought you should be punished, I would have let him punish you, believe me."

"Yeah, I know."

When he's finished looking after me (and believe me, I much prefer Sam to my father—it's just weird after a certain point. He always looked after me when I was younger; whether it was him or Mother) Sam places a kiss on my ass. I smile up at him. "Thank-you, Baby." Sam has tears in his eyes.

I sit up. "I'm sorry Cassy, I don't mean to cry."

"I know. C'mere," I say pulling him down to me so I can spoon him. Lying on my back is out. "How long we got 'till the munchkin invades?"

"Least a couple more hours, he was pretty tired."

"Good," I kiss his neck. "I want you. Can I fuck you Baby?"

"But Cas…your little tushie…"

"My dick ain't broken, cowboy," I say throwing in a little bit of the south for him. I know he misses my accent sometimes.

He laughs. "You sound like Christian."

"So can I?"

"You don't have to ask. I'd rather you didn't."

"Well then." I yank off his clothes and finish what I started earlier this morning.

~The Day of Dean's Birthday Party: Early Morning (Saturday)~

Cas and I have barely had any sleep. Dean kept us up last night, as he did the night before. At least he's getting some sleep. He sleeps while one of us rocks him and the other of us tries to sleep, without really getting good sleep because we're still keeping an ear open in case the other of us needs something.

Needless to say, Cas and I are dead on our feet, but we've gotta keep moving. We have a huge long day ahead of us—thankfully we've got a ton of help. I'm sincerely hoping Dean will hang with his uncle Dal for a bit.

Dean's at the tail end of his cold, the Colt remedies did their job, so he's better, but he's cranky and his nose still runs a bit, which I can tell is pissing him off. His cough is gone and he's not complaining of the sore throat he did yesterday, but he is complaining about everything else. Even I'm beginning to lose my patience (mostly because I'm tired) but I'm really trying to keep my cool. I don't want to get cross with him on his birthday, but I can't promise Papa will do the same.

"Doesn't want to wear that Daddy."

"Lordy bee Dean. You 'doesn't' want to wear anything this morning. Fine. Be naked, it's your birthday, but Grampa's not going to like it," I say as I change his diaper. He wouldn't pee in the toilet of course.

"Yes he does!"

"I'd be careful of your attitude, mister. Papa's not going to like it."

"No!"

I finish up with his diaper and scoop my little monster and Tigger up. He clings to me, his hair still messy with little roosters sticking up everywhere from laying on me while he slept. "Dean is naked," he says with narrowed eyes and sour lips. I have to laugh at that. I do love how cute he looks in just his diaper and Michael necklace (which he still wears all the time) complete with his grumpy Dean face. I head out to the kitchen without bothering to fix his hair; he'll just scream. He might be more agreeable after eating, though Gramma Winchester insists on spoiling him with pancakes and waffles every morning, I wish she'd feed him something besides sugar for breakfast.

Cas looks Dean and I over, I'm sure I don't look much better, my hair is awry, but at least I'm dressed. "What's with him?"

"Fusspot," I answer without thinking. I'm so tired.

"Not a fusspot, Daddy. Youse a fusspot."

Cas's eyes turn down. "I don't think so little boy, you can sit on Gramma and Grampa's naughty step. Come." He's crying, but he still goes to Cas.

"But, I, I, I want Daddy…"

"When you calm down."

Cas carries Dean away and I hate to say it, but I'm glad for the break. "Good morning y'all," I say to Clyde, Claire and Clarabelle.

"Good morn, well I say good morning, son."

"Dean didn't get much sleep I take it?" Clarabelle says.

Everyone looks to be in good spirits for Dean's birthday, I hope the birthday boy can join them. I shake my head. "No, but I'll get him to sleep before the festivities begin."

Cas come back, Deanless.

"He, okay?"

"He'll be fine. He needs to cool off." Cas tries to fix my mop. "You need to brush this baby. You can't come to Father's table with hair like this," he says in my ear as everyone continues their breakfast. I make up a plate for Dean.

"Yes. Sorry Cassy, I plan on it, I couldn't with Prince Charming." I turn toward Clyde. "I'm sorry for my appearance, and that Dean's naked."

"He sure can raise a fuss," Clyde says. "Wait 'till he's a teenager. I suppose I can excuse it today, since it's his party day, but you'll make sure he's presentable for the rest of your stay?"

"Yes, sir."

Cas doesn't look impressed that I had to be scolded by his father. After a few minutes he says, "you want to go get him Baby?"

I nod.

Dean's on the stairs, petting Tigger, looking so sweet in his little diaper, but his mood doesn't look much improved. I sit beside him. "Dean is mad Daddy," he sniffles.

"Yeah? Why?" I pick him up under his armpits and set him on my lap.

"Doesn't need to have time out."

"You sure? It seemed a little like you did need a minute to yourself. You weren't behaving nice for Daddy either." I run my fingers through his thick curls, he lays against me, still sniffling a bit. I take a tissue out of my pocket. "Blow sweetheart."

He does.

"How about we start this morning again, huh?"

He nods. "Dean sits with Daddy," he declares.

"Of course," I say, even though I know the minute he sets eyes on Cas, he'll want to make up with him. "Daddy's sorry he said you were a fusspot., sweetheart. That wasn't nice. Do you forgive me?" He probably feels like he got in trouble because of me, but I know Cas sat him here because of his attitude, it's hard to explain the difference to a three-year-old.

"Dean will forgive you, Daddy," he says. "Tigger is mad at Papa and wants to bite him."

"Tell Tigger that's a bad idea. Papa will bite back."

"Papa will spank him?"

"Most likely."

"Oh." He pets Tigger some more.

"You ready to come with Daddy?"

"Yeah."

"Do we need to leave Tigger in time out?"

"Think so Daddy."

I want to laugh, but I think he really believes Tigger's real.

I bring my munchkin back to the kitchen where he can eat the plate I made up for him, but as predicted, just him looking at Papa makes him cry again. He reaches for Cas. "I, I, Dean is sorry Papa."

Cas takes Dean, who is looking extra pitiful and starts swaying him as he cries. "What's with all the tears, Kiddo? You are always forgiven."

"But, Tigger's mad."

"Tigger is in time out because he says he wants to bite you," I explain.

"Why does Tigger want to bite Papa?" Cas asks.

"Doesn't want to have time out."

"Dean, we don't talk to elders with the attitude you had before. Can you explain that to Tigger, so he doesn't bite Papa and get in trouble?"

"Can, Papa. We's can go get him now?"

"I think so, c'mon then."

This is our morning with Dean. I think we're in trouble.

~GUW~

Sitting on the naughty step was as fun as it always is. Zero. But after that, I felt better. Tigger calmed down too—that guy gets a bit too riled sometimes. He's just excited about the party. I got to eat breakfast in nothing, but my diaper though and Grampa didn't say a thing. I told Daddy. Only thing better would have been being all the way naked, so I'm seriously hoping for some naked Dean time at the party.

Gramma made me special birthday pancakes which Daddy allowed, but between all the waffles and other sugary crap I've had, even while I was sick, Daddy'll probably put an end to it after today, so I'm going to make sure to eat a lot of fucking cake. "Okay Dean bean, hate to rain on your Dean parade, but we're going to clean you up have a rest, then get ready for the party," Daddy says.

What? Seriously, what the fuck? A rest? That's the biggest load of fucking bullshit I've ever heard. I almost shout a loud 'no,' but Papa isn't too pleased looking. In fact, I think he's irked at Daddy for some reason.

"Isn't tired, thank-you, Daddy," I decide to go with. That's much more polite.

Daddy looks at Papa, Papa nods toward the hallway where our bedroom is. That means we're going to have a family discussion in private. Papa gets us excused from the table, from Grampa, he brings Tigger, who got quite the talking to from Papa about biting and Daddy grabs me. "Come on syrup monster, time to get destickified."

We head to our bedroom. _Ours_ because I've totally crashed the party in there. I'm moving in for good and I don't care that I'm not that sick anymore. I don't know why I don't want to sleep in my bed, I just don't. I don't want to be a-fucking-lone.

When we get to the bedroom, Papa shuts the door and I was right, Papa is ticked. Daddy knows it too. "Cassy I'm sorry—"

"Have you forgotten about the Clarabelle situation, Sam? Father just punished me. He's being lenient because it's Dean and because it's the day of his party, but I can tell he's not pleased. You should have made him put clothes on and got both of you ready. If you needed help, all you had to do was call me."

"I know Cas, I just, you're tired too. I wanted you to have a break."

Papa sighs. It's hard for Papa to be too upset when he knows Daddy was just thinking of him. "Which is why I'm not going to hand out consequences, but Sam, your good intentions are going to get me roasted again. Call me for help when you need it, or Mother, anyone. Just ask for help."

Daddy looks like he's trying not to cry. I hug his neck a little tighter. "Yes, Cas."

"Your hair is too long anyway. I want it cut."

Daddy nods. "I'll go tomorrow. I'm sure I can get in somewhere."

"Thank-you Baby," he says coming closer to Daddy and kissing his lips. "As for Dean, I know it's his birthday and even I'm hard pressed to fight with him on his party day, I hated having to put him in time out, but Sam, we still have to be careful. Father's tolerance only goes so far and he's not in the best of moods because of Clarabelle. I'm surprised he didn't come down on you harder earlier. I don't mind Dean in a diaper at the table in our home, but now that he's older, Father wants him properly attired. It's just for while we're here, Baby."

Grampa said something to Daddy about my semi-nakedness?

"I know Cas. I'm sorry, I should have called you, but I…"

"Didn't want me to reprimand Dean on his birthday. I know, but that time out did him good. He's much calmer now."

"Doesn't like that time out," I say so they remember I'm still here.

"I know Angel," Papa says pushing my hair off my forehead and planting a kiss there. "But Papa has to do what's best for his little boy always. That's why I'm going to put him back to sleep after I wipe a bit of this syrup off and you're going to get ready Sam. I want him to have a good day. Don't you remember you're going to eat lots of cake?" he says to me.

"I has a big piece, Papa."

"That's right. A huge piece. Papa promises, okay? But first you need a little snooze. Come see Papa."

Daddy tilts me to him and I go, latching onto Tigger as I climb into his arms.

"Cas, I—"

"We're all good, Baby. No more apologies. Let's just…start this morning again, yeah?"

Daddy said as much earlier, so I know he'll agree. "Yes, Cassy," he says kissing Papa. "Let's start again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. You know Chally's rule about keeping it quiet is hopeless right?


	12. It's Dean's Party (2)

"Clang, clang, rattle bing bang, gonna make noise all day, toot! Toot!" I'm showering with Daddy. Daddy and Papa talked it over and decided Daddy should wait for me to get ready, because he wanted to wash me too. They were right, sleeping was helpful and I feel much better, ready to celebrate my third birthday. Feeling like a big boy.

I'm on the floor by Daddy's feet, singing and splashing in the water. I like feeling the water run over me. "That fun Dean Bean?"

"Yeah Daddy. Dean's singing the song like Mortimer."

"Does Michael like to read that story to you?"

Sorta. Daddy's being generous with his wording—I make Michael read it to me and Daddy knows it. "Yeah, Dean can call Michael today Daddy?"

"Of course we're going to call him on your birthday party day," Daddy says scrubbing himself with soap. "Could you imagine the heck he'd raise if we didn't?"

I giggle, because yeah, he'd be pissed. Daddy rinses and shuts the water off. He already cleaned me first, so I'm really just hanging out. He scoops me up, all slippery and naked and we step out of the shower together. Daddy's long hair's hanging in his face and he has to smooth it back with his free hand. Papa walks in at that moment, undressing as he enters. "Papa's naked too, Daddy," I tell him.

"It's a whole naked party up in here," Daddy says kissing Papa's lips.

"You look good, Baby," Papa says to Daddy. My papa is always admiring my daddy.

"Likewise."

"We going to have some Daddy time tonight? Is the munchkin going to sleep in his own bed?"

Fat chance, Papa. "I will sleep in the big bed with Daddy and Papa, okay Papa?"

I give Papa my sweet Dean 'Chester eyes. He looks at Daddy and Daddy shrugs. "I'm going to have to be the bad guy at some point. You'll have him sleeping with us the whole trip."

I look up at Daddy who I'm pretty sure is giving Papa his own version of Dean eyes, 'cept they're what Papa sometimes calls, 'puppy eyes McGee.' "Oh all right. You can sleep in the big bed tonight Mr. Winchester, then it's time for you to sleep in your own bed."

We'll see about that. "I doesn't like to be alone at Gramma and Grampa's Papa." I make sure to pout my lip out.

"Aw, he's scared, Cassy. It's okay, baby. Daddy will sleep with you in your bed the first couple of nights."

" _Sam_."

"Just the first couple, Cassy, 'till he's settled."

"Let's talk about it later, Sam." Papa doesn't sound pleased, I think he's still grouchy, he and I slept some together, so he can't be tired, I don't know what bee got in his bonnet (that's what Daddy would say).

"Yes, Cassy. I'll get him ready."

"Here, how 'bout a towel, Sam?"

Since Daddy's holding me, it's hard for him to dry himself off, so Papa helps him, patting him down and wrapping the towel around his waist, with another kiss to his lips. Daddy grabs another towel to wrap me in. We head back to Daddy and Papa's bedroom, leaving Papa to have his shower.

"I apologize in advance for this Dean, but your Gramma wanted you in this outfit and what Gramma wants, Gramma gets."

Outfit? What outfit? Then he fucking shows me. No. No way. Seriously what the fuck? It's a kind of navy outfit with navy blue shorts and a white top, complete with the sailor type collar and knot in front. "Daddy," I complain.

"I know, I know. But there wasn't much I could do about it. I tried to tell everyone white is not a color for three-year-olds."

That's not my problem with it, Daddy.

"You will look cute though. My cute little cheese doodle," he says poking my naked belly and setting me down on the bed. He grabs a diaper. "Do you have to go pee?"

"No thank you, Daddy."

Daddy diapers and dresses me first (I decide not to complain too much about the outfit) then I hang out with Tigger until Daddy's in his clothes. Papa enters the bedroom in a towel, with wet hair. "Look at you, Kiddo. You look good," Papa says.

"Thank you, Papa, but white isn't good for three-year-olds," I explain.

"Looks like you've been talking to Daddy," he smiles.

Daddy's brushing his hair. "Well, it's true, but it doesn't bother me. He does look sweet."

"Papa, I can has my soother, please?"

"Here you go, Kiddo," he says. "You're such a polite boy. Papa's proud."

I beam at him as he pushes the soother between my lips. I like making Papa proud. "Daddy says we can call Michael. We can call him soon, Papa?"

Papa frowns. "I suppose." Then he smiles. "Here, we'll call him from my cell."

"Cas," Daddy scolds, but I'm not sure why.

"Oh c'mon. Papas get to have some fun, don't they?"

Daddy's still giving him scolding eyes, but doesn't stop Papa from pulling out his phone and dialing the number. He hands me the phone when it's ringing. "Uh, Mr. Winchester, sir," Michael clears his throat. "Hello. Sir." 

I laugh. "It's Dean 'Chester, Michael. Not Papa."

He grumbles something I can't make out, Papa's chuckling. "Hello, Dean. You sound much better, have you recovered from your illness?"

"Ine all better, Michael."

"Are you sure? Seems kind of fast."

"Daddy did Colt remedies on his Dean Bean. Made me all better." I fucking hate Colt remedies, but they sure work.

"All right. Are you speaking with that infernal pacifier in your mouth?"

"Dean always does!" He's well versed in soother speak, he can go fuck himself if he thinks I'm taking it out.

"Okay, okay. I've just…I'm a little irritable these days. It's hard without you here." That makes me smile. I think Michael misses me.

"Love you Michael."

"Enough of that. What's happening?"

"Getting ready for my birthday party. Michael? I wish you could come here."

"I was at your last birthday party, remember?"

Not really. I was too little, I don't remember a lot from when I was little, unless Daddy reminds me. I do know that's when he got me Tigger, so I go with that. "Tigger!"

"Yeah, Tigger. Boy do I regret the whole Tigger decision. Is he behaving himself?"

"No. Said he was going to bite Papa and had to sit on the naughty step."

There's nothing but Michael's angel laugh for a long time. The only way to describe it, is…pretty. He's got a pretty laugh like fucking bells when he's happy as he is now. "Oh Dean, you just made my day. Maybe even my fucking century."

~GUW~

I talked with Michael a long time, but then we had to leave for my birthday party. The Grammas and the Grampas rented out the Town Hall. It's a large yellow building that looks like it's from another era—it has to of been there a long time—but it's a nice looking building, well kept through the years, I guess.

There's a big grassy area in the front, already filled with people. It's like they set up a freaking fair for me. There are animals and games, even pony rides. Holy fuck. The grandparents went way overboard, but I am pretty cute, so I'm totally worth it.

As we head toward the door to the hall, we (Daddy, Papa, Gramma, Grampa and I) chance upon Nana and Granddaddy Colt. Uncle Dal's with them.

Nana's got her blonde hair tied back, her hazel eyes gleaming (fucking excited about the party no doubt), decked out in a pretty white and red summer dress. With her is Granddaddy. Daddy's Daddy.

Picture Daddy; tall with the broadest shoulders you've ever seen amidst the laid back aura of Uncle Dally. His hair is longer than Daddy's, falling to his shoulders, but just as dark. He's usually got it tied back, but today it's under a white cowboy hat. He's just the slightest bit thinner than Daddy, strong shoulders and arms drowning in his long-sleeved flannel, which is over a white t-shirt, much like Uncle Dal would wear, paired with faded blue jeans.

He's got one hand tucked into his jean's pocket, with a shoulder hitched up toward his ear, looking cool and shy at the same time. But Granddaddy's not shy, he's just the opposite.

Nana squeals. "Baby boy! Well I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays! Come here." She means Daddy of course.

Daddy squeals too. "Mama! Daddy!"

I put my hands over my ears and curl into Papa. "Is too loud, Papa."

Papa laughs. "Still not used to them, huh Kiddo? Comes with time, I promise."

Nana kisses and hugs Daddy to death then she starts on me. "Sorry I can't stay, glitter baby. I will come see you later—I've got lots to do in the kitchen," she says regretfully.

"You need help Mama?" Daddy asks.

"Oh no you don't. We got this one—we didn't get to come to the first one." Daddy will never live that down. "We're doing everything for this one."

"Yes, ma'am," Daddy says.

"I best come with you Adelaide," Gramma says. Gramma and Nana scurry off together.

"Junior," Granddaddy says, hugging Daddy. I think Granddaddy Colt is the only person alive who's taller than Daddy. It's only by a little bit, but it still counts. "And there he is…" Like everyone in the family does, he spontaneously busts out in song. Granddaddy Colt's got a voice like just like Uncle Dal. "There is a young Cowboy, he lives on the range, his horse and his saddle are his only companions…rock a bye sweet baby Dean…c'mere buckaroo."

I dive for Granddaddy. "Daddy Colt!" What? I'm not nearly as loud as Nana or Daddy.

He carefully lifts me to his chest, setting one arm under my diapered ass. He kisses me all over my face. "It's so good to see yah'all." He pulls Daddy into us again. "You're a good son, a real good son, junior."

~GUW~

It feels good to see Daddy again. I worry about him all the time. He throws Dean up in the air, Dean lets out a shrill giggle. "Daddy, your heart, you shouldn't throw him like that." I know Mama still worries about him too, enough to make him take frequent breaks when he's out with the horses.

"Now, now, Mama bear. You know my heart attack was stress related and a long time ago. My heart's strong as an ox's. Ain't nothing gonna happen to it, right Dean?"

"Right Daddy, Colt."

"He'll agree with anything you say and you know it."

"Don't worry about me, son, let me worry about you."

Daddy always says that, but it's hard. Cas is the only one I let take care of me. Daddy may be retired from Colt several years now, but I looked after everyone a long time before that. I didn't mind at all and I don't regret it, but old habits die hard.

"I'll try Daddy."

"Good. Hello, Cas," Daddy says, with a quick one armed embrace for Cassy.

"Hello, sir." Cas is still formal with Daddy as often as he can get away with it, despite my daddy telling him to relax. Daddy smiles at us all and greets Clyde, as well, but it's not as big, it's more a greeting you give a good friend you see all the time, because they've spent the past few weeks planning this together and have therefore already been together a ton. Our parents may not agree on everything, but they get along well enough and respect each other, they even get together the odd time when it doesn't involve any of us at Winchester base in Collins California.

"Hello Samuel," Clyde says.

"Heya, Clyde. I was thinking about showing Dean here around his party. Wanna come?"

"I say, well I say I'd be delighted."

"Be a good boy Dean Winchester," I get in before they're completely out of hearing range. I'm completely comfortable with them having Dean, but he really is like my little cub. It's feels strange when people walk away with him.

"Will, Daddy!" he shouts.

Cas puts an arm around me. "Well that's the last I'm going to see of Dean for awhile," I say as Daddy and Clyde walk off with my son.

"I'll have both eyes out for him baby. You want a drink? I'll go find something. Dal?"

"I'm okay brother Cas. I'll find myself something later."

"I'll have a beer Cassy," I say thinking I should enjoy my Dean-free time; when I get him back, he'll likely be hopped up on sugar and party time energy then he'll crash and I'll have cranky Dean.

"One beer coming right up," Cas says then heads in that direction.

When he's gone, I round on my sweet younger brother. "So you gonna tell me what that smile's about Dallas Colt?"

"I don't have any smiles on my face."

"Yes you do."

"I smile all the time."

"Not like that."

"Oh fine. Chris and I have been, spending some time together."

I know that's Dally's nice way of saying they're having sex. "Dallas!" I hiss quietly and look around for Cas. "Please tell me you're doing more than just 'spending time together,' Cas was just reprimanded by his father over Clarabelle."

"But…sorry, I don't follow big brother. Clarabelle lives at home, Chris is moved out—I thought once you were moved out you could have the relationships you wanted…the way you wanted, until marriage of course. We're nowhere near marriage though, let me tell you."

I guess I can't really blame him. The Winchester Way (as much as it's straightforward for those of us who live it) is complicated. Dal does his best to understand, he's quite interested in what the Winchesters have constructed. "Yeah, but, it's different with Christian. Clyde seems to worry about him a little more than Clarabelle and Cas." I heave a huge sigh. "Can we just, tell Cas about this today, so he can decide how we move forward?"

"Yeah, guess we'd better, but Sammy, we're not dating," he clarifies reluctantly.

"Dal!"

"I'm sorry, I really didn't know."

"Yeah, I know. It's okay. Cas'll fix it." I just feel bad throwing this at him considering what just happened. "But Dal, you know you don't do well with those kinds of 'relationships,'" I remind him.

"We'll be fine, Sammy. There's no way we can do long distance and 'sides, he agreed to it. He wouldn't have it he thought he couldn't. We've made a pact to tell each other if things get too much."

Right. This spells disaster. "Let's start by talking to Cas, as soon as possible. Otherwise, both our butts are on the line, you still live with us, remember?"

Dal winces. "I remember. I'm sorry Sammy, guess I still have a lot to learn about the Winchester Way."

"It's okay, Dal. Don't even think about it. I'll mention something to Cas when he comes back."

"Maybe I should let you do that first, I'd like to warn Christian before the hammer named Cas comes down on us. That okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah. That would be better actually."

"All right. I'm gonna grab my guitar from the truck then I'll text Chris if I still don't see him."

~Chally~

I leave Sam to grab my guitar from the truck, s'when Caroline pulls up with Christian as in they've come together. I'm taken by surprise (why didn't he call me if he needed a ride? Oh yeah, not dating) but I try not to let it show and I try not to remember the way his mouth felt against my neck last night. And my cock.

He gets out of the car wearing my hat. That makes me smile to myself, and note, I'm not looking directly at him, just from my periphery, not wanting to let on I'm staring just yet. That way I can notice the lean lines of his body and remember how they felt under my fingers.

"It's not Caroline, just because he's good lookin', don't mean he gets to leer at anyone he wants—I mean, I do, but I'm a known felon in the playboy scene—I don't want you datin' a playboy."

"And what if I'm the playboy?" She says waggling her eyes at him over the roof of the car, as she shuts the door. Chris meets her at the trunk, they still haven't noticed me, too focused on their debate.

"If you're playgirling, I'm ratting you out to your daddy," he says playfully nudging her with his hip.

"You would not. I've got way too much on you, Christian Winchester."

He hauls off and pinches her bottom and that's when I get annoyed, but it's not in the way I should be getting annoyed. I _should_ be upset someone's touching my little sister like that, but I'm not. I just plain don't like him pinching someone else's butt in the playful, flirtatious way he did.

She yelps, giggling and whacks him and dang, I'm jealous. Jealous of their easy, relationship and the coy way they joke around together. I can't help thinking that they would make a good couple, my only saving grace being: Caroline is no bottom, she'd make Chris fess up to the fact that he is. I have a mind to believe that maybe she does and that's why Chris is drawn to her while he bickers with her constantly.

Putting the analysis of Chris and Caroline on hold for the moment, I'm more concerned with myself; I'm jealous of my sister. Yeah, my sister. How many levels of messed up is that? Too many. But darned if I can help what I do next.

I shut the door to my truck, making my presence known and they both look up at me. Chris hides the smile I can see poking at the corners of his lips, and man do I want to grab him, kiss him, let everyone in the vicinity know that I'm the one who had him begging last night. I can't though, not in front of Caroline. Caroline abandons whatever she was taking out of the trunk in favor of me. "Hey big brother," she says eyeing me suspiciously. She knows me too well; probably knows Christian too well too. Wouldn't be surprised if she already knows about us.

"Hey Caroline," I say. "Chris."

"Hey Dals," he says shyly, losing much of his loud personality.

"Is Mama, all set? Can I do anything?"

"Naw," she says. "Mama's just finishing the cake, I'm going to help her with a few things. Just make sure the entertainment's taken care of, we'll do the rest." She reaches into her trunk to gather her box of various stuffs.

"You need a hand with that Caroline?" Chris asks. "That's what a real gentleman does. Where's your Brady fellow now?"

"You know I ain't looking for that kind of gentleman at the moment and I’m fine," she glares at him; Chris knows well enough to leave it alone. She shuts the trunk. "See y'all later." And she's gone.

No one's around, so I grab Chris's hand and pull him to me for a kiss. "You should have told me you needed a ride, I could've picked you up." I pull away and run my thumb over his lips. 

"I didn't need one, she made me."

I laugh, 'cause she likely did. "God you're addictive, I want you again already."

"You wanna find a somewhere we can go?" His hand makes its way to the waistband of my jeans, he lets a finger slide under, making contact with the skin there. It makes me shiver.

"Christian Winchester," I say tapping his ass, lightly. "This is Dean's birthday party, we can't have sex here—Castiel will put both our sets of nuts in a vice if we're caught."

He leans into me. "Yeah, I know. I still think it'd be worth it, and if uh, that's the only thing stopping yah…"

Sadly it is. All my morals are out the door. In for a penny, in for a pound they say. "Okay. I think I know of a place."

We fuck in the janitor's closet.

Chally

We're careful not to touch after that and even part ways for a bit. I rally a troop of little kids together (there are a ton of critters here, with all the Colts, plus some Winchester ones, even some friend's of the families' kids) and start singing some kid's songs on the stage. Daddy and Dean join us at some point, but I don't see Sam and Cas anywhere, I do get distracted when yet again, Chris and Caroline are together. Where the heck is that Brady guy she's supposed to be with? Do they really have to have their hands all over each other like that? This is a kid's birthday. _Yes, I understand the hypocrisy in that. It don't stop me havin' the thought._

I carry on singing. It calms me, otherwise I'd be truly irked.

Dean squirms down from Daddy after my set and comes running to me, Tigger in hand. "Uncle Dal, Uncle Dal! It's my birthday!"

"Is it? You sure half-pint?" I put my guitar to the side, leaving it for later, so I can scoop Dean up. He looks so cute in his little sailor suit (which is already a little dirty) I'm sure he hates it. "You need to pee or anything?" I know Daddy's probably taking good care of him, but I can't help fussing over him. It's perfunctory.

"No, but when's we gonna have cake? Dean's been waiting Uncle Dal."

"How many people have you asked that to, Sur?"

"Too many," he says looking at his hands.

"Yeah? And what do they say?" I ask tickling his little belly. He giggles and look up at me.

"Later."

I'm sure we didn't need all this crazy stuff for Dean, just a big ol' cake. "We must wait patiently, half-pint. You'll get your cake, promise."

Daddy walks up to us, lifting his hat momentarily, to smooth his long hair back. "Howdy son. That was a mighty fine set."

I hear the suggestion in his voice, we've had many chats about my 'future.' He's in support of me going to school and everything, but he'd like to see me make a career out of singing. Can't say I haven't thought about it, but I'm also really into school.

"Thank you, sir."

"He asking about cake again?" Daddy says with a gleam in his eye toward Dean.

"Did, Daddy Colt," Dean says for me and without a lick of shame. "Won't do it again though. Uncle Dal says you must be patient Dean 'Chester."

I tousle his hair. "Thanks for listening half-pint. Don't you got a hat?"

"No."

"I'll find him one," Daddy says reclaiming his grandson.

I can hear Dean chattering to Daddy about Michael as they leave. Chris is still at the back of the audience with Caroline, his arm is around her. I can't help how I feel, especially when I feel I just laid claim to him not an hour ago. And I know, I'm not supposed to feel like that, which is the whole problem with everything.

They're playing some game with popcorn only the two of them can understand, laughing and I just feel like an outsider to their fun. I have to pass by them though, so I do with a howdy.

"Howdy, Dals," Chris says back. "You want some popcorn?"

That sends the two of them into a fit of giggles. "Uh, no thanks. Was going to get some food before the kids put on their show."

"Right. I'd better go get my guitar in a bit. Can I have the keys _Lynnie_?" For some reason that makes them both laugh louder. Gosh, they're getting along much better than earlier. Did I miss something? I think I liked their bickering better.

"Here I'll come with yah," Caroline says.

"I'll go with him," I say on impulse. I can't think about them going off alone together, specially since Chris isn't mine. _Dallas Colt, just what the hell are you doing?_

Caroline smiles knowingly and hands me the keys. Yep. She knows. Does it make me feel better seeing Chris's arms still wrapped around her? Nope. "Here you go Dally. I best be gettin' anyway. I'm sure Mama and Claire need me again."

She wipes off her hands and dances off. I feel kinda stupid, left with Chris, who's staring at me, not sure what to say. Don't blame him—I wouldn’t know what to say either. I'm acting like a jealous boyfriend and he knows it. I nod my head to the side and walk off, frustrated with myself. He follows.

"I do something, Dals?"

"Naw, nothing. I'm being silly."

"Well then, would you mind if we went and got food first, before the guitar? I really was only askin' for the keys so I wouldn't have to find her again. Don't want to lug my guitar all around the place—I'm not you, the singing circus."

I know I'm supposed to laugh at that, but I'm having a hard time finding anything funny. "You don't seem to have any trouble finding Caroline," I say and wish I could take it back. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

"I, uh, yeah," he scratches the back of his neck.

"Sorry. That was inappropriate Chris. I'm sorry, I think I just need food. Come get some with me?"

He smiles broadly. "Yeah."

I want to hold his hand but don't.

I switch directions and head for the room with all the food and tables. There's a mix of Colts, Winchesters and friends, Chris and I have to say a million hellos on our way to the buffet table, where we make hearty plates of pulled pork, cornbread, coleslaw, chicken, potatoes and gravy, vegetables and bits of the other assorted dishes. Between, Mama, Claire Winchester and the caterers, there's enough food here to feed the County, which is good, because I'm pretty sure the entire County's here.

"If you take mine to the table, I'll get us some beers," Chris says.

"Deal." I only just stop my hand from reaching out to touch him. Dang. He doesn't seem to be having this problem. He's cool as a cucumber.

I find a table with Sam and Dean at it. Dean's sitting on Sam's lap shirtless. Smart. Sammy's always thinking. Dean's already got pulled pork all down his stomach. Tigger and Dean's soother are beside his plate, a little cowboy hat (Daddy Colt must have found for him) sitting on another chair. I'm surprised Sam was able to reclaim his child away from Daddy. "Smaller bites, sweetheart. Daddy doesn't want you to choke," Sam says.

"Won't, Daddy," he says coughing a little bit. Sam rubs his back and gives him some water to drink.

"Lordy Bee, Dean Daniel. You want Papa to feed you? He will if you don't eat nice."

"Can do it, Daddy. Ine a big boy, now." Dean narrows his eyes at Sam.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Hey Dal," he says when he sees me, Dean takes another bite. I set the plates down in front of two of empty seats. Sam can guess who the second plate is for.

"You talk to Cas yet?"

"Haven't seen him. Where is he?"

"On his way to meet with us, he'll be here any minute."

Dang. I'm not ready for this, I'm sure Christian's not either. If this morning's been anything to go by, my brother's right, I don't think I can do this thing with Chris. Not like we said anyway. "I'll mention to him," I say.

"It'll be fine, Dally. Cas isn't that scary."

"No, not scary, I just don't want to upset him."

"Michael gets scared of Papa Uncle Dal," Dean tells me.

I laugh. "I know half pint."

"Dean doesn't ask about the cake again, right Daddy?"

"Nope. He hasn't talked about it," Sam confirms.

"But it's soon, Uncle Dal?"

"That's asking," I chuckle. "But yeah, it's soon."

Cas sits down with us before Chris does. In fact, Chris has been gone so long, I'm wondering if he's ditched me. "You being a good boy, Kiddo?"

"Yes sir, Papa. Dean's eating."

"I can see that, you're all messy."

Dean giggles as Cas takes his seat beside Sam, moving the mini cowboy hat over a chair and giving him, just a little peck on the lips, but there's so much love between them, Cas looks like he's always writing songs in his head about Sam.

"How did you manage to get him away from your father, Sam?" Cas asks.

"Winnie begged Granddaddy to come see a preview of her part in the puppet show for Dean. I saw an opportunity to feed him, so I snatched it up."

"Snatched him back you mean. Did you eat? I haven't. Want me to go get us some, Baby?"

"I had a little, but I could eat more."

"Okay, Baby. Coming right up. Don't go away Dallas, we need to talk."

Cas leaves again. "I told him a little, Dal. Like I said I would."

I sigh. "It's just as well, Sammy, you were right. I can't do this with Chris, not—"

Of course Chris chooses then to sit down and he heard, I know he heard. "Here's your beer Dallas," he says. "Hey Sam."

I don't know Chris so well yet, I mean, I know him but I'm just getting to _really_ know him, so I can't tell if what I just said's affected him or not. I know he likes to dip into multiple honey pots, maybe he doesn't care?

"Hey Christian."

"Hi, Uncle Chris!" Dean says.

"Hey Texas Ranger, or should I call you pigpen? You're messy."

"That's what Papa says."

"I was just about to send a search party out for you, Sugar. What took so long?" I ask Chris.

"Sorry, Caroline."

 _Really?_ It's irrational, but I can barely stand it anymore. I push up out of my seat and grab Chris's hand, he's rightfully confused. "Tell brother Cas, we'll be right back."

"But Dal," Sam says.

"I promise, Sammy."

"Where they going, Daddy?" I hear Dean say as I practically manhandle Chris out of the hall.

I don't talk to Chris, or even look at him 'till we're out by my truck, the only place there's hardly any people. When I swing him around to face me, pinning him against my truck he's…crying. Fudge. He's wiping furiously at his face and my whole gut wrenches. "Jesus, Chris. I didn't mean to go caveman on you, I'm sorry, I—"

"If you're breaking us off, just send me a fucking text Dallas. I don't need this bullshit."

"Break us off? No, I was—"

"I heard you say you can't do this."

Oh. Right.

He doesn't even want to look at me, it's making my eyes get all teary. "Chris I'm—"

"I kept my end of the deal Dallas. Caroline, she already knew. I should have told you that. I'm sorry."

I cringe, not able to hear my own sister's name at the moment—not until things are the way they should be with Chris and I. "Can we not talk about Caroline for a second?"

"Not talk about her? Isn't that why you're breaking off our thing? I know you figured out she knew, but then...I mean everything _seemed_ okay."

The root of so many relationship problems, lack of communication just like that and not a good foot to start 'us' off on. Especially with how I've been feeling today. I've got to set things right. "Hush darlin', for just a sec. I've got to say something. Will you give me just five minutes?"

"Yeah. I'll give you five."

Where to start? God shines his light on my white hat, a top Christian's head. "See this hat?" I say picking it up off his head and dropping it down again.

"Yessir," he says. He's said that a few times to me. I know Chris is used to that, growing up a Winchester, a phrase so common it would peel off his tongue easily, but does he mean to do it with me?

"That's my Kenny Chesney hat. It ain't just a hat," I say taking a deep breath. "It's my most special one."

"I-it is?"

"Yeah. I didn't even think twice about giving it to you, just did it. Didn't want you getting sunstroke, darlin'."

"Does that mean, you're not breaking this off?" he says gesturing between us.

I frown at him, because I don't like what I've got to do, but I've got to do it anyway; it's what's best for the both of us. "I meant what you overheard, I can't do this Chris. Sammy's right, I'm not built that way. I just wanted you so bad, more than I've ever wanted anyone and well I wanted to try doing things your way—I know you don't like to date. That you're not the settling down kind."

"Well I'm not, so just go." He tries to push me away, but I don't let him.

"My five minutes ain't up."

He's wiping at his eyes again. I'm so confused. His body language says one thing, but his words another. "I also meant what I said after our first time, about how I wish I would have taken you out on a date before we slept together. I wanna date you Chris, I know you don't do that, but I'm still askin'."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said. I said a lot of stupid things. I'd like to make up for them."

"You're only here for a month."

"I know that too. I'm not sure how we'll do it, but I want to try—I'm getting jealous of my sister for Pete's sake."

He's silent.

"C'mon Chris, something, you gotta give me something. Is the idea of dating me so horrible?"

"No that's not it Dals, it's complicated."

Then it clicks. "Is this about the whole Winchester thing? I'm just talking about dating, not getting married, I know I'm no expert about what y'all practice, but sure as aces, we can date, can't we?"

His whole body relaxes. "Just dating?"

"Yeah. As in, we're together and we don't date anyone else," I clarify.

"So, exclusive dating…"

"I know you don't do that, I know, but I'd like it so much if you'd just try with me, please? C'mon Chris, you gonna make me beg on my knees?"

The hair that I always try to keep behind my ear, but never seems to stay, falls in front of my eyes. Chris reaches out and tucks it back. Chris is like Cas in many ways and that's an example. He's gotta have things a certain way; stuff outta place bothers him. I don't think he can help it. "Shit, Dals. Much as I do like seeing the sight of you on your knees, I think we should save that for later. This is a kid's birthday," he whispers. "Yeah, I'll date yah, already."

That voice I recognize already, his 'brat' voice, I think…I think he's pushing on purpose—I recall something Sam said (Sam who I'm going to have to talk to numerous times) about pushing. I'm pretty sure I know about Chris, about what side of the Winchester fence he falls on, but a few more prods can't hurt. In the spirit of being who I am and _honesty_ I lean into his ear and tell him what I'd like to do with him. "You're crusin'. Talk like that's gonna have you over my knee cowboy."

"Well I uh, jeez Dals," he says all breathy and worked up. I'm right. I know it. Chris needs someone to spank him, I think he knows it too, but there's no way he'll just admit to that. He's not ready. Hells bells. I'm not sure if anyone really knows what side of the fence Chris is on. I don't think he lets on. The only reason I've been able to detect some of the real Chris are the missteps in his cover; he tends to slip up around me I've noticed. "W-we, we got time?"

Holy fudge. Or, maybe he will admit.

"Even though I'm uh, _you know_ , like Cas, spanking is a bit of a turn on for me," he admits, but he's blushing furiously.

I think about it, because if I've learned anything from living with Sam and Cas, it's that Chris's type don't always know how to ask for a spanking when they need one. If Chris is going as far as to pass it off as some sexual turn on for him _and_ to let me do it, he must really need it. I'm happy to do that for him.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's Sammy. _Get your butt back here, Dallas Colt._

Ouch. I don't get Dallas Colted often by Sammy. He must be ticked. I text him that we're on our way back. "We gotta go back, you going to be all right if we wait?"

"I can live without more sex another few hours, Dals. I'm not that much of a sex maniac, but we are going to have to step up our game if we're dating exclusively."

"That's not what I meant, I meant…" It's mid sentence, I notice something about his eyes, begging me not to talk about it. Like a moment ago was yet another misstep on his part, he showed me something he never meant to show me and talking about that is more than he can handle for today. "I meant nothing. C'mon." This time, I can hold his hand firmly as I walk us back to the party.

And I don't even care later when Caroline kisses his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. #Chally only made it since Thursday evening with their silly 'deal.' Honestly, I had a whole plan in my head; I was going to drag it out, but they wouldn't let me. Yeah, for them! 
> 
> I wanted the meeting of Daddy Colt to be much cooler than it turned out, but I really hope you liked him anyway. I've been thinking on him a long time. (All this story going on and this is the first time we've actually _seen_ him!! Mock was excited)
> 
> Still much to happen at this birthday, some people to show up, some cousins to meet, a puppet show to be had...doesn't that sound exciting?! Okay, probably not, but y'all will read anyway, yeah? 
> 
> LY  
> Mock  
> xoxo
> 
> ETA: Curious, who's POV would you like to 'see' the Cas talk from? I'm going to have to make the final decision based on the rest of the chapter, but I will heavily factor in the reader's choice. Oh, and please say 'why.' Thanks!


	13. It's Dean's Party (3) Or: When Your Top Needs Topping Or: Apologizing for Wet Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knowing exactly how the chapter's supposed to go is sometimes a blessing and sometimes a curse! 
> 
> I've been building up to these scenes for a while now, but want it to read a particular way and well, I just can't seem to get it quite to my level of Mock perfection. That's why it's taken me so long. Hence, I've broken this up into two chapters. I won't make y'all wait as long for the next one. I'm writing it NOW. 
> 
> Also, if you are totally loving "this DD stuff," you've GOT to check out BellaRisa's new fic Bunker Hall:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/5071792/chapters/11662921
> 
> It's already crazy good and Mock is crazy addicted.

**PART I**

I get the same look from Sam I'm used to seeing him give Jared and Jensen, but I'm only treated to it briefly. Sam knows I'm not the kind to act purposefully belligerent. Besides, what he lacks in endurance, brother Cas makes up for, deepening the dark look he's got set on both of us, but particularly, me. Brother Cas is not pleased, no wonder Sam's text was so dire. "Sorry, sir. I swear it was important. I can explain."

I'm actually not sure if I can, but I sure as heck am going to try. "No need, Dallas. Please have a seat."

He looks between our joined hands, which we both instinctively let go as we sit. Cas heaves a long suffering sigh. Sam's trying to entertain Dean, who's getting increasingly fidgety. "I think Dean's done," Sam says to Cas. "I'm going to go wipe him down."

And now we get to be alone with Cas and that look on his face. Even with Chris here, it doesn't seem enough to combat it. Cas stares at us, fingers tapping on the table (I know those tapping fingers and right now they're saying: who should I spank first?) until Chris can't stand it anymore. "I don't see what we're in trouble for. I don't live at home Castiel, I can _date_ anyone I want."

He succeeds in irritating Cas further. "Dallas isn't anyone, Chris. This isn't some one night stand of yours."

That pisses Chris off. "This is stupid. I'm hung and I haven't even been to trial."

"Okay then convince me."

"I shouldn't have to. This is bullshit. I'm outta here." He moves to push away from the table, but I'm quick to grab his wrist and pull him back down.

"C'mon Chris, give brother Cas a chance too."

"This was all a mistake, I'm sorry Dals. I can't do this."

Wait, what?

"Sit your ass down, now Christian," Cas says. Chris looks like he wants to tell Cas to kiss his go to hell and take off anyway, but he's also embarrassed, getting chastised in front of me like that. That he, a grown man could get told like that and worse, that he takes comfort in obeying – it soothes him.

Now that his defenses are weakened, I tug at him again and pull him into me; it's instinct and it settles Chris some. "Calm down, Sugar," I say low in his ear. Cas's eyes widen and I can see when it clicks for him. He can't believe it, but he's processing. I shake my head back and forth and beg him with my eyes not to say anything. Least not now. I've barely got a handle on Chris as it is, if Cas starts talking Winchester Way semantics, Chris will leave.

Cas and I have long established trust, so he lets it go, but I know I'm going to have to figure out a way to talk to him about it later. "Cas, we're sorry we didn't talk to you, we didn't think it was anything and it's new and…" all of that sounds terrible. It's like I can hear it from Cas's point of view as I'm saying it. "We didn't go about this properly at all. I see that now. What can we do to fix it?"

Cas scrubs his face with his hands. Poor Cas is tired, I can see it around his eyes, he's been dealing with a lot and a certain, three-year-old hasn't allowed his daddies to get much sleep. "You two need to cool it for today. I'm sorry, I don't see any other way. If Father finds out about this Christian, we're both on the chopping block," Cas sighs heavily. "We can't do this today."

It's not what either of us wants to hear even if Cas is right. Chris is a lot more vocal about it than I am, he sits ups. "I'm moved out Castiel, this ain't right." It's as far as he's willing to go though, Castiel is at his tether and he can sense it like I can.

"I'm going to speak with Father on behalf of both of you, that's what will be best, especially after what happened with Clarabelle, and you will wait Christian."

"I don't see why you have to talk with him at all," Chris says. "I don't want you talking to him about this."

"We have to Christian, it's just courtesy, you'll see. I'm sure he'll be fine with it – I'll make sure he's fine with it, but if he finds out by accident, he'll think more stuff is going on behind his back. It's just really bad timing. Please trust me on this."

He crosses his arms, "yeah fine."

"I think I'm entitled to a little more respect than that," Cas says.

Chris is in no mood to be agreeable. He sulks, crossing his arms and stares at the floor between his spread knees. "Okay, fine. But you know how disrespect is dealt with in our family. Come with me."

That spurs a response from Chris. "Now?" I can tell he's embarrassed from head to toe, but Winchesters aren't secret about the discipline aspects of their family, not in front of each other and not in front of me. I know Cas would have been more discreet if it had been anyone other than me. Guess he considers me more than just a Colt living in his home.

"Me now, or Father later."

That's not a hard decision for him. Wordlessly, he gets up, holding his hand to his elbow on the opposite arm. "Dallas, you do live in my home. We are not at home, but I do expect you to abide my directive, even if he won't."

I'm pretty sure Chris'll obey all the directives Cas will set forth in about ten minutes. "I will, sir."

"I've heard through the Sam grapevine that you two are helping with the puppet show for Dean and that's fine, but steer clear of each other until this can be sorted, please."

"Yes, sir," I say knowing well Cas's orders are not to be taken lightly. Other than some light scoldings, Sam's never really had to punish me at all growing up. But his rules were a lot less stringent than Cas's and I've learned the hard way on some of'em. I'm respectful as I can be, but figuring out Cas has taken some trial in error and I've earned myself punishment on more than one occasion. Though more and more I realize it's pretty straight forward: Do what he says and no one gets spanked.

Chris leaves with Cas and I decide having another beer is a good plan. That's when Jared and Jensen show up.

GUW

I take Chris to a room that looks a bit like a pre-school classroom. The Town Hall is multi-functional in our community, I know they've got all kinds of community-like activities they hold here. I'm sure our rental of this place does not include this room, but I plan on being quick. This is just a reminder anyway. Though now I'm questioning if that's all he needs right now. From what I saw, Chris is not who I thought he was all this time.

But how could I have missed that growing up? The only thing that comes to mind is that he's done a damn good job of hiding it. The 'it' of course, being: Chris is not a Top. I'm never one hundred percent sure of how it goes in 'regular' circles, but for as long as I've been around, I know that when you're born a Winchester, you're one or the other. Believe me. I fought my Top-like tendencies a long time before Sam helped me accept them. Dean's helped me too. Knowing how much he needs me to be _me_ makes me want to be me all the more.

I shut the door and don't bother with preamble. Christian knows enough to know what he did; he knows better. "Please Castiel. I'm sorry. You're right, I was being disrespectful. Can we, not do this here? Someone could walk in."

"I already gave you the choice of me now or Father later, you picked me. If you want to act like that in front of people, I don't feel bad for taking you to task in a public place. It's just a spanking you'll live." It's as I'm undoing his pants I notice and I notice this time of all the other times because I'm looking for it. _Really_ looking for it. It's hard to spot, because yes, he's hiding it and doing a damn fine job of hiding it – he both doesn't want and wants this spanking in the same way any other 'non-top,' might. Everyone is different, though and moreover, each time is different.

I don't know why Chris is hiding himself, or rather, I have some inclinations, but those are things to be explored, in depth, at another time. The matter of disrespect, that's one I know how to deal with well and one he knows to abide. I do want to be quick though, I want both of us to get back to the birthday, so I yank his jeans and underwear down quickly and pull him over my knee. I begin with hard and fast spanks. Disrespect is my largest pet peeve and he knows it.

"Ow! Okay, Castiel, okay. Jeez. I'm sorry all right?"

"I'm glad to hear it. Because if I get anymore like that from you, I'm taking off my belt. You know better."

"Yessir."

"I even promised to help you sort this out. Don't I always come through when I say I will?"

"You do. I'm sorry. I'm…I'm sorry."

I'm giving him a pretty decent spanking, his cheeks pinken, he squirms a little, but it's not long and it's not in any way as severe as it probably should be. If anything, that he was dragged off in the middle of a party to be disciplined is the worst of it and by the way his body continually relaxes, I'd say he needed this. Hell, maybe that was him pushing for it. "Okay," I say patting his rear, we're done here."

He stands up, rubbing a little, but he's not really crying, just a few tears, likely because of the sting. "You are good at that, brother. Father doesn't have much on you." Christian fixes his clothes.

"Behave yourself."

"I said I would. I just feel like…look Castiel, I don't want anyone thinking this is more than it is. It ain't. I just wanna date Dallas, it's too soon to say if we're a match, if we'll marry. It's not like I'm trying to get him invited to Sunday dinners."

I sigh. He doesn't get it. "That's the thing Christian, Dallas is already invited to Sunday dinner; he's already family. Father's going to want to know you're dating him whether you get married or not. And like I said before, it's more the timing."

"Yeah, Clarabelle and her secret beau. All right, we'll stay on lock down 'till you say, but do you think you could speed it up a little? I was hopin' the night would end back at my place."

I sigh and rub my hands over my face. I'm tired. Dean's kept us up every night since we've been here. Father's already tanned my hide once and I still haven't told Sam about church… _tomorrow._ I want to pull through for my little brother; especially because in light of this new information, I feel like I've failed him, but it's a tall order. "I just spanked you," is the only answer I've got for him. I pair it with my disapproving look.

He puts his hands up in surrender. "That's my cue to go, uh, that is am I dismissed, sir?"

I nod at him and when he's gone I bury my face into my hands.

GUW

"Daddy, Dean doesn't need to wear clothes."

We're only half way through this party and Dean's tired already. He may not be sick anymore, but his body's still run down. "Papa will have a fit if you run around here naked, Sur," I tell him redressing him. He's not pleased. Apparently even he's adapted the 'it's Dean's party and he can do what he wants' attitude.

"Will not. Let's ask him."

"I don't think that's a good idea. Let's go find Granddaddy Colt, pumpkin." He doesn't like my brush off, but he toddles faithfully beside me with Tigger, happy to be going to see Granddaddy. "Did you forget there's going to be a puppet show for you?"

"Oh yeah. I forgotted for a second, but Daddy?"

"Yes, cheese doodle?"

"I can be naked after the Dean's show?"

"Argh. Dean Daniel," I say playfully exasperated. He's lucky he's cute. I pluck him up from under his armpits and kiss his face all over. "Should Daddy kiss you a hundred times to make you stop talking about naked Dean?"

He giggles. "Noo-oo, Daddy!"

I kiss him anyway. We end up bumping into Clyde. "I say, well I say there's the boy of the hour. Are you having a fun birthday?"

"Is fun Grampa. Dean's gonna be naked soon, Papa will say: Yes Dean 'Chester, 'cause it's your birthday!"

I shake my head and roll my eyes. "There will be no naked Dean 'Chesters, sir. Papa will surely say no." How exactly did I get swindled into even asking? Right. My son is the cutest con artist of all time.

"Well that's a good thing, because don't you look handsome in that suit Gramma got you?"

"Doesn't Grampa."

"Well I think you do and speaking of which, did Claire give you the outfit we want him to wear for church tomorrow?"

Church tomorrow? This is the first I've heard of it. "Uh, no sir," I say. I quickly put two and two together, Cas must know and must not have told me.

"I'll get her to bring it by your room tonight. Now, do you want to come see Grampa for a bit? I miss you already, Cowboy. You haven't even been on the pony rides yet, I'll bet."

I pass Dean over to Clyde, we'll find Granddaddy Colt later. "Okay and we can go find Papa?"

Jeez Louise. He's got a one track mind. Guess he needs Papa to tell him no. "We sure can," Clyde says.

"Be a good boy for Grampa, Dean Bean."

"Will Daddy."

I've lost my bear cub again, but it's just as well, I've been hit with a whammie. I've got to find Cas first. If Cas hasn't told me about church tomorrow, it's a sign of a Top in peril. Cas would never purposefully hide something from me. I know that. But he has left things go too long in the telling when he a) is worried about upsetting me and/or b) has too much on his plate. I know what I have to do, I have to help him.

But that's not as simple as it sounds.

He's Castiel-I'm-the-top-in-this-relationship-I-help-you-you-don't-help-me-Winchester. This doesn't mean I can't help him and I've gotten good at helping Cas without making it look like I'm helping Cas. I've been doing it as long as I've known him.

**September 2003**

If I could make a living off watching Cas sleep… He breathes softly, the long pieces of hair in front falling onto his face, his tanned skin looks warm. We had a summer. It was a good one of falling in love in new ways and learning about each other as we figured out how to make the Winchester Way work for us, so it was also a tumultuous summer, but we made it through and here we are, our last year of school. We've still got lots to learn.

I should wake him, but I don't want to. He needs the sleep. It's only mid-September, but Cas is already overwhelmed, especially because he spends every waking hour worrying about me more than he used to.

"Cas… Cassy. Bell's gonna ring soon."

"What, huh?" He sits up rubbing bleary eyes. "Did I fall asleep? Sam, why did you let me sleep?"

"Oh? Sorry. Did you not want to?" I play dumb.

He smiles and yanks me to him, nuzzling his face into my neck. "Castiel Winchester, someone might see us."

"They can kiss my go to hell. If I wanna snuggle you, I'll snuggle you as I please."

"Yeah and get reprimanded by your father once the school calls them and tells him, his son and his boyfriend were 'snuggling' real close on the school grounds."

"Fine," he says letting me go and I sit up, respectably. Mentioning his father usually knocks sense into him. "I can't wait to be able to do that to you whenever I want."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. It's gonna be so good. I'm gonna really do something with Winchester Sam, you'll see. It'll be three times what it is – I'm gonna give you everything."

"I've already got everything, you dinglehead. I don't need anything fancy, don't kill yourself."

I get a severe glare, one only Cas manage. "Well I'm gonna be the Head of House and I say you're gonna have everything."

I take his hand and fiddle with the cuff of his jacket. "What if I just want you? That don't matter to you?"

He smiles showing all his teeth, eyes crinkling, Cas's happy smile. "And what if I just want to take care of you? That not allowed?" He catches my wrist and yanks me to him again capturing my lips. "Mmm, it's just not enough Sam, it's never enough."

"Tonight," I pull away. "We can, do stuff, tonight."

When his eyes look away, I know there's something he hasn't told me. "Castiel Grace…" I say it stern then immediately regret it. Cas looks utterly distraught, a look my tough boy doesn't wear often.

"Fuck…I'm fuck. I'm so sorry Baby I just couldn't tell you. I knew you'd be upset. I tried so many god damn times.

He usually at least tries not to use curse words around me, unless we're making love. "What is it Cas? Please don't keep secrets from me." My eyes well up, I don't mean them to, but I thought we didn't keep things from each other.

"I picked my job at Winchester back up, I've gotta work tonight for a bit. I know I said I'd just work there during the summer, but Father's right, if I'm going to take over when he wants to retire, well I have to." Now he's got that look in his eyes, the one that says we're about to fight if we keep going. He won't be swayed on this.

"I'm just worried, Cassy. I know you _can_ do it all, but it might kill you before you're twenty-one. I plan on marrying you cowboy."

He lays back down on the grass, his white and blue leather track jacket seems to burry him. He's quiet, means he's frustrated. I lay down with him, screw the rules, and stare at his face – it's exhausted with the weight of his future. His father wants to semi-retire when Cas is thirty. Cas wants to make his father proud, but he also hates upsetting me. Hates it. "I'm sorry Cassy." I reach out and brush his hair away. "You have to do this, huh?"

"That or run away to be a cowboy. Think about it – you, me, herding cattle, sleeping in a tent real close."

"I'd make a terrible cowboy and you know it."

He keeps looking at me, searching my face for an answer, hoping I won't make a fuss. So much is asked of Cas. He's his father's pride and joy, a role model for his siblings and now he reckons on being a husband for me.

I make a decision right there, I'm not going to be the stress in his life. Even if it blows up in his face. It's the way Cas works, he needs to control everything – I know this about him better than he knows it.

"Cas it's fine."

"You ain't fine about it."

"I understand, can't that be enough?"

"No, I don't want you upset, Baby."

"I'm not _never_ going be upset, Cas. It doesn't seem to upset you that I don't like having to carry around this dang cell phone everywhere."

"That's different." I get a reproving look (because I'm complaining about a rule, as far as he's concerned) and the look is mixed with the one Cas gets when he feels things slipping beyond his control, his brows furrow and most would mistake his expression for anger – which is there too – but it's mostly him trying to solve all the world problems, ones that won't get solved fast enough. For me, that feeling might feel like drowning, but for Cas it's probably more like sand slipping through his fingers.

Instinctively, I give him something he can control.

I snuggle closer, and kiss him, making sure to let him take over. Before long, his tongue is thrusting its way inside and my easily excitable teenage cock is too hard. "Mmm, Baby. I want you, but we shouldn't do this here."

"Oh, now you want to follow the rules?"

"No. Not really. I love you so much Sam. I'm sorry I'm this way."

"Stop apologizing – you might as well apologize for water being wet too. "

"I wish I wasn't like this, Sam. I wish I was normal that I didn't feel this way."

"I love you just the way you are, really I do."

GUW

I laugh a the memory. We were so young and, well, stupid. With some things. We were teenagers after all. The rest of that year was tough for Cas and I. I did same as I do now: Take care of him, without talking about it, run around behind the scenes and make sure he's got little else to deal with, aside from whatever 'Top-like' things he feels he needs to deal with, but Cas wasn't as good at accepting my help as he is now.

He's come to appreciate it. It's the special Cas brand of care he needs and I helped him recognize that after a long fought battle. Winchesters and Colts are equally stubborn, just about different things.

I should clarify something. Cas has no compunction 'upsetting' me when he _knows_ his decision will enhance me somehow, but when it's grey, when he knows it has more to do with making another important person in his life happy, it's hard for him. Cas convinced himself that I would benefit from 'all the money' he would make establishing himself at Winchester, but deep down he knew that's not the stuff that truly impresses me. Sure I was and am proud of him for it, but that's him making his father proud. He needed to do it and I wanted him to. This relationship is not just about getting my needs met, it's about his needs to. His needs are my needs.

This is the same as all the other times and I know what I have to do.

I wasn't keen on Dean in church so young, mostly because of how I spoil Dean. He'll be fidgety, bored and getting into lots of trouble with Papa. I've experienced plenty of children in church and decided it's better when they're at an age that's easier for them to behave. But Clyde and Claire have been pushing this for years, I knew this was coming, heck, I'm surprised Cas lasted this long. He can't tell his parents no anymore and I understand that. It's a respect thing. He loves and respects them so much, but he also loves and respects me the same amount. I'll probably never know how hard it is for him when the three of us disagree – him trying to do the right thing for all five of us.

I find Cas before our son does (hopefully Clyde's still distracting him with pony rides) and I can tell by the way his eyes harden when he sees me I'm right, it's also clear he knows I know. That look is like his heart clenching, ready to scold as needed to get his point across. I tilt my head to the side and smile at him. "It's okay Cassy, I'm not mad. So we have to take Dean to church…if he does well, maybe I can sign him up for that Godly Play class Charlie raves about. It'll be good Cas."

He pulls me to him and buries his head in my neck. "Oh thank god. I didn't want to upset you, Baby. I…you're really okay with this?"

"I am. It's not what I would have chosen, no, but I am fine with it. Besides, Dean'll just have to learn to behave himself, even if he's bored."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Baby. I didn't mean to keep it from you, I didn't know how to tell you – I really thought you were going to be furious."

We hold each other while the party rages around us. It's always been like that for Cas and I – me and him together somehow tunes out the whole world. "Where is our son?"

"Last time I saw him he was with your father. FYI, he wants to be naked Dean. I told him no, but he thinks Papa will say yes, because it's his birthday."

Cas chuckles. "He's not being naked Dean."

"I told him, but he's gotta hear it from you."

He pulls away to look up at me. "You really are the best thing, Sam. I love you so much."

I lean in to kiss him. "Love you too, Cassy."

"There he is Grampa," we hear. We look up in time to see Clyde put Dean down and let him run straight to Papa hugging his leg. "Papa! Dean looked everywhere for you."

"He really did," Clyde says. "Could barely get him to the pony rides."

I shake my head. "Sorry, Clyde."

"Papa, Dean can be naked please? Doesn't want to wear this no more."

Cas crouches down to our son's level. "Papa says, no Dean. Keep your clothes on please."

We get instant pouting and real tears. Cas wraps his arms around him and pulls him into his chest. "Does Papa have a tired boy?" Cas stands with Dean and Dean latches his legs around his Papa, burrowing into Cas's neck, shaking his head, but his silence and the subdued way he's resting his head on Papa are both sure signs he is tired.

Cas looks at me with his _'what should we do, Sam?'_ eyes. Normally we'd put him down for a nap, but we can't exactly do that on his birthday party day. "I think the puppet show is starting soon and then do you know what comes after that, Dean bean?"

He shakes his head into Papa's neck, I run my hand through his large curls. "Cake!" I say trying to get him excited.

"Cake?"

"Yep. Do you remember what Papa said about cake?" I ask.

"Dean has a big piece," he says with wide eyes, checking in with Papa.

"A big piece," Papa confirms.

"I'll go see how that cake's coming along," Clyde offers.

"Should we go grab some seats?" I ask Cas as his father walks off.

"Sounds good, baby," he says.

"You're a good Papa, Cas," I remind him, he need the reminder sometimes. For some reason, he doesn't smile his happy smile, like he usually does when I say that.

Dally

My two older brothers stroll up to me like a couple of cats who've got the cream. "Heya, Dally. What'd we miss?" Jensen says.

What _did_ they miss? "Not much. Not compared to whatever you're doin'. Mama worries about you two constantly, everyone does really, couldn't hurt for you two to call a little more often."

"You owe me five bucks, Jare. Pay up," Jensen holds a hand out to Jared.

"Huh?"

"He bet me five bucks that the first Colt we walked up to would scold us for something," Jared says handing five bucks over.

Jensen puts an arm around my head giving me a noogie. "Aw, you don't gotta worry 'bout us little brother. We're fine. Having the time of our lives. Even have a case while we're here."

"You do?" I say pushing him off me.

"Yep," Jared says coming in for a hug, I notice he's got a bag of sunflower seeds, which he dumps into his hand when we part and starts chewing and they tell me a little of their adventures. I want to listen, I do, but I can't stop thinking about Chris. I know Cas won't kill him, well, not really, but I feel responsible for him some how. I wonder if texting is permitted in the 'cool it' regulation?

"So where do we get something to eat around here?" Jensen asks.

"Through those doors and second left." I leave them and head to get my guitar, instead of the beer I was originally intending on, texting Chris on the way. Texting can't be part of the rules. There's no way Clyde could find out about that. _You live, Cowboy?_

It doesn't take long for me to get an answer. _I'm fine._ It's short; he's probably embarrassed, I don't say anymore about it.

When I reach my truck, he's there, sitting by Caroline's car sadly strumming his guitar. "Hey Sugar," I say.

"Shoot, sorry Dals, I'll go," he says getting up.

"Nah. You don't gotta. I'm just getting my guitar, I'm pretty sure this ain't a violation. We didn't mean to bump into each other."

"I don't think Castiel will see it that way," he says dusting off his jeans, but he doesn't go anywhere, he just watches me pull my guitar outta my truck. It's an old, white Ford. The family's been using her while I've been away, but I like driving her when I'm home. Jensen taught me about fixing cars, so I usually spend some time tuning her up. So far I haven't got the chance this trip.

"I'm…I'm sorry it's like this Dals, with my family."

"You might as well apologize for water being wet while you're at it, darlin'." I sling my guitar over my shoulder. "I'm used to Winchesters, Chris and I really don't mind. Cas and I get along real well."

"I saw that." His eyes glint playfully.

I badly want to reach out to hold him, kiss his lips. I know what all his silence around me is really about now, out-going Chris Winchester is shy. It's sweet. Makes me want to wrap myself around him. I'll have to wait. "Guess it won't look too good if we go in together. Why don't you g'on in first? I'll meet you in there darlin'."

To Be Continued…


	14. It's Dean's Party (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Can't believe there's still a little of this shindig in my head. I now know see why writing this many characters is difficult! Too many things to see. Well. So long as you are enjoying hearing from them, I'll keep writing. 
> 
> This chapter was really fun to write and is pretty fluffy on the whole. 
> 
>  
> 
> Not sure about you guys, but AO3 has been super slow for me, so coming back to fix mistakes may prove too cumbersome for my patience. I'll just apologize in advance and hope you forgive me. Enjoy!

**PART II**

Dean refuses to leave my lap, he's tired and I hope he falls asleep despite Sam's hesitancy – it's stressful for me when I think one of my boys isn't getting what he needs. "Here baby boy, have some juice," Sam says handing him a sippy cup. "Is a long day, isn't it?"

"Thank you, Daddy," Dean says accepting the juice.

"I'm so proud of my polite boy," I make sure to tell him. He beams. "When is this thing going to start?" I whisper a bit grouchily to Sam. Worry makes me agitated. Thank God Sam knows me and isn't bothered by me being me.

He rubs a hand on my thigh. "Soon, Cassy. You know Cas, the later he stays up without napping today, the earlier and easier he'll go to bed tonight. Perhaps even in his O-W-N bed," he spells, so Dean doesn't throw a fit.

"Good point, Baby. Never thought of that."

"That's because you're distracted with worry," he teases. "I have your number Castiel Winchester."

"Don't want this no more Daddy," Dean says pushing the juice cup at him. "I has my soother please?"

"Okay, sweetheart."

Sam gets our boy set up on my lap and my mother and father find us. "Hey dollface, are you having a fun birthday? Gramma's barely seen you."

My poor mother and Adelaide have been slaving in the kitchen, why they insisted on making so much stuff themselves when we also had caterers for this event is beyond me. "Papa, Papa, Papa says big piece of cake Gramma."

Next year I'm going to insist that we just have cake. It's the only thing Dean cares about. He hasn't even asked about presents. "He did? Well that's good, because it's the biggest cake you ever did see. You wanna come see Gramma?"

Gramma holds out her arms and Dean deftly crawls across Grampa, to get to her. It never ceases to amaze me what he'll let Dean do. My lap feels a bit cold without Dean sitting in it, I'm sad for the loss, since I was enjoying the cuddles, but I guess strict Papa is poor competition for fun Gramma. Sam notices and takes my hand. "He'll be back soon, you'll see."

I press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Dallas comes out and sits himself on a stool, his guitar slung around him, he rests it on his knee. Christian is on the other side of the stage, helping Winnie and some of the others of Dean's cousins with their puppets and the lighting, getting them set up, above the boxed puppet stage. Lulu's helping too, looking like she helped orchestrate this entire thing. She's fourteen now, but still as full of vinegar, as she ever was. Still liable to tell Dean a ghost story and scare the pants off of him.

They do a pretty impressive job of _The Lonely Goatherd_ from the _Sound of Music_. Dean's clapping with Gramma and Tigger, Grampa's even singing along with them and let me tell you, Father can sing, but listening to the proper Clyde Winchester yodeling is pretty funny. Dean loves it. And he may not like his sailor outfit, but I think he looks damn adorable.

After a quick puppet change, they continue the Sound of Music theme with _My Favorite Things._

_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things._

_When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad. I simply remember my favorite things and then I don't feel, so bad._

Of course all of the members of Sam's family can sing like the real Von Trapp family and even my brother is completely immersed – I didn't even know he knew these songs so well. I continuously check on our boy, he's still having fun, but it's his sleepy version. I'd feel a whole lot better if he had a nap.

When they reach the end of the puppet show portion, there's lots of clapping and even a standing ovation. But Dallas and Christian aren't done. Dallas gets up and Christian slaps on his guitar, they share a look and I don't think a star in the sky can't see they way they're looking at each other. I glance at Father quickly. Will he be able to figure them out?

Dallas begins in his low, rich voice. _"Edelwiess, Edelwiess. Every Morning you greet me. Small and white, clean and bright, bless my homeland forever…"_

Dallas is hopeless. He can't help looking at my brother the whole time and Christian can't help staring back like Dallas is the most amazing thing, a bit how Sam sometimes looks at me – even if I don't always deserve it.

Dallas finishes the whole verse then Christian answers back, repeating the entire verse. _"…blossom of snow may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever. Edelwiess, Edelwiess, bless my homeland forever."_

The last twang of the last note dies off, both of them still looking at each other, both of them smiling like lunatics. The room of cousins and aunts and uncles clap again and I would be staring at them, trying to decipher what exactly just happened (did they just fall in love?) but I'm accosted by my cranky three-year-old. He crawls across Grampa again, Tigger tagging along with him and clambers into my lap, putting his head on my shoulder. I can hear him sucking on his soother occasionally. Sam looks over at me with an 'I told you so' lifting his eyebrows.

I put a hand on his back, rubbing and one under his diapered bottom and notice he's wet. "You got the diaper bag Sam? I'm going to go change him."

"Yep. Right here, Cassy."

He hands me the diaper bag, which I sling over the opposite shoulder to the one Dean's lying on and stand up. "Papa's poor tired boy," I coo at him and it must be true because that sets him off crying.

"Aw. Dean Bean," Sam says running a hand through his hair.

Dean's rubbing his eyes. "His blanket in there too, Sam?"

"It sure is, Cas."

Good. I'm taking over this pony ride. There's still hours left to this party, I'm putting him to sleep for a little bit. "I'll come with you, Castiel. You might need my help," Father offers, likely feeling the same as me right now and wanting to do something about Dean. I nod.

"Shh, Papa's got you angel." I start walking, Father follows me into the family washroom, which is thankfully spacious. Dean complains a little when I lay him down on the changetable.

"Papa, Dean doesn't want to lay here."

"I know, Kiddo, but I've got to change your bum, then you can snuggle with Papa all you want." I've got a million problems to solve, but the only person I care about at the moment is Dean. Maybe he'll sleep if I lay down with him…but where do you lay down in a community hall?

"Here," my father says, handing me a new diaper. "Something on your mind, son?"

Yeah. Lots and most of it's to do with you, actually. Instead I say, "yes, sir. Just sorting some things out in my head." I should probably tell him now, about Dallas and Christian – if he doesn't already know after that display. I tickle Dean's belly and get a small smile, but it's short-lived and replaced with a scowl.

"Don't do that, Papa."

"I'm sorry Mr. Winchester. I did not realize you were opposed to belly tickles."

"Don't like that, Papa. Isn't nice."

It's hard not to laugh, because he's so cute even though he's being a bit of a fuss-pot. Least he's a reasonably polite fuss-pot. I pull out a wet wipe and begin wiping him down. While I'm distracted with taking care of Dean, I decide to just to take the plunge. "Father, how would you feel about Christian dating Dallas Colt?"

I freeze and he's silent. After two heartbeats, I make myself resume wiping down Dean's bottom. Father clears his throat. "Well I think…I say…Dallas Colt is a fine boy." That's all I get. I know he's not going to say anymore on the topic and I'm sure that's a yes. It relieves a little of the pressure I feel about those two, but I'm still worried about them. There are still things to work out, conversations to have…

I tape Dean into his diaper then stand him up to put his little sailor shorts back on. Father is ready with his Mr. Blankenstien, or whatever other name Sam calls it. I can't keep up with them all. "Thank you, Grampa," Dean says latching on, as it his my chest and shoulder first, then Dean's face snuggles into it, as he lays his head on me again.

Father kisses his forehead. "You have yourself a rest now, y'hear cowboy? We still have lots to do."

Dean nods into my shoulder.

"You need anything son?"

"No, sir." I sling the diaper bag over my free shoulder. He nods and leaves and I think I remember seeing a rocking chair in that classroom I spanked Christian in. Looks like it gets dual use today. I set the diaper bag down beside it when we get there and don't know if I need a rocking chair by this point. I think Dean's almost asleep, I can't see his face, but the weight of his body is getting heavier, as sleep begins to take him. I sit down anyway and begin rocking him singing him the tune we last heard.

Suddenly, as if he's had a thought that's woken him up, he leans back to look at me. He reaches out and pats my cheek, removing his soother with his free hand, Mr. Blankenstien, trapped between his body and mine. "S'okay Papa. You're my good Papa. Love you." He puts his soother back in and I get a soother kiss on the cheek before he rests his head back down on my shoulder. Can he sense what I'm feeling? How much stock do you put into the things a three-year-old says?

I don't know what the rest of the world does, but for me, all my stocks are into what this little three-year-old says and suddenly, I feel three tons lighter. _Bring the challenges forth. I'm Dean's good Papa and everything's going to be okay. He loves me._

GUW

This is the longest day of my life. It got longer, as soon as my brother told me not to go near Dallas Colt, complete with spanking to my bare ass, which I still have to rub on occasion, providing there's no one looking. It was better Castiel than Dallas though. I was having that itch. The one only spanking seems to make better, the one I freaking hate. I can't stand being like this. Some dumb freak who needs to be spanked. I was real close to having Dallas do it too. _I wanna…I wanna feel what that's like._ I've never had anyone spank me, really, other than Castiel or Father. Anytime I get that itch, it's easy enough to stop by and provoke my father into it.

With Dallas, I know it'd be different. But I don't want…I don't want….

If I give in to that part of me, I know it's over. The only other times I've let someone spank me were private affairs – a handful of times at a local kink factory. They weren't bad experiences, they were fine experiences, but they weren't what I was looking for.

I never give into that part of myself. I've been slowly getting rid of it. Working on being more like Castiel and Clarabelle, and I'm doing a damn fine job of it – just the odd itch every now and again, but even the strictest of dieters have a slice of chocolate cake once in a while. This is exactly like that.

After our killer guitar duet (I'm pretty sure I even saw ol' strict-as-all-hell-Clyde-Winchester shed a tear or two) we did some Elvis. Played just about every song I know, so I could stay with him longer, but eventually I ran out and it was time for me to go. I got some parting words from him that still have my insides tingling. "Wait a sec there, Chris," he said as I unslung my guitar and looked at him with my damn worship eyes.

"Yeah, Dals?"

He paused a moment before answering, even though he was the one to call me over, was like he needed to look me over, see if I'm okay. He reached out to tug the brim of my hat, which was actually his hat and pulled me closer, but still not touching. Most had already left the area, was just Caroline, Lulu and some of the Colt kids cleaning up the 'stage.' They had it painted all nice, since Dals and I built it, so they're disassembling the pieces and are keeping it somewhere for another time.

I looked around feeling a bit guilty, I _know_ if Castiel sees us, he'll be pissed, but I can't seem to care. "You wear this now, y'hear? Don't let me catch you without it."

He said it soft and low and commanding; for my ears only. That gave me the tingles I spoke of. They still haven't left and I've been sitting out by Caroline's car a good thirty minutes now, a smile on my face strumming that damn song we played, the German one.

That's why this is dangerous.

I shouldn't have started this. All the work I've done to be different, or well the same is going to be undone, ain't it?

There's a buzz in my pocket. _Thinking 'bout you,_ it says. From Dallas of course, he even signed it 'Dals' like I call him and even though you don't need to sign off on a text message. Dang sappy Colts. Not that Castiel talks about it much, but he's mentioned the odd thing Sam's done for him; Colts are total romantics.

Winchesters are too, we just have a different brand is all. _Thinking about you too. Where I'd like to stick my cock later…_

_Shame on you. You're at a kid's birthday._

_Sorry. Don't think either one of us can say that anymore with a clean conscious._

_True. I just like scolding you for some reason. Then I get to picture you blushing._

I freeze. That's too close. Too close for my comfort. And no I'm not stupid enough to think smart, wise, I'm-getting-my-doctrate-in-psychology-Dallas-Colt isn't at least suspect of me, fact I'm sure he knows, but I'm pretty sure we've got an unspoken understanding. One where he _knows_ but we don't talk about it. Yeah. Pretty sure. I'm pretty sure.

 _We should probably talk later. Just in case Castiel comes by,_ I text back.

Yeah. That's lame and he'll never buy it, but I know he'll leave it for now. And he does, 'cept it's worse than that. He doesn't even answer. Nothing. Nothing at all. I've ruined it haven't I? _Wipe my right eye._ It's why I don't do this. _Wipe my right eye again._

I sit out here strumming a while longer, 'till Caroline finds me. She's carrying, almost dragging her big box of stuff she's too stubborn to let anyone carry, but she stops cold and puts it down for a rest when she sees me. Caroline's usually always got something harassing to say to me, it's just how we are with each other. It's fun and I like it. But she doesn't say anything harassing now. It's more of a gentle prod.

"C'mon now cowpoke, you gonna help this damsel in distress, or what?"

As if she's a damsel in distress. "Yeah," I say getting up, leaving my guitar against the car. I open the trunk first then lift her stuff inside. I add my guitar and shut the trunk.

I let her spin me around. She takes a good look at me, a little like how Dallas did, then she wipes my right cheek with her hand, not mentioning the tears. "C'mon. Let's go drink us some beer and party with the rowdy twins. Cake's gonna be served when Dean wakes up, then some of the younger kids'll be taken home. We'll have a head start on the Colt bash that's gonna happen after this."

That sounds like fun to me. She takes my hand and I let her lead me away. Where? Just away.

GUW

I wake up rubbing my eyes, drooling through my soother onto Mr. Blanken…I mean blanket. Damn it Daddy. He's always calling him that and it's damn catchy. I still refuse to call my blanket that. Without knowing why, I'm practically crying when I wake up. "Dean," says Papa's firm voice. "You're okay, Kiddo. You were sleeping."

Duh. "Where's Daddy?"

"I guess this means Papa time's over? Let's go find him. Then it's cake time."

Now he's got my attention. I've been waiting all day for some fucking cake. Finally. I thought this was my birthday? I feel like I've been looking after everyone all day, which exhausted me, so I feel asleep I guess. I did end up playing with Eddie (found him in the sea of cousins) when I was with Granddaddy Colt and some of the other cousins, but I also had to keep an eye on Granddaddy Colt. Daddy told me his heart was attacked. I don't really know how that happens, or what to do about it, so I was just real careful to watch out for him all day, so no one else could attack it. It was hard keeping Tigger under control today, he wanted to do so many naughty things. Even Uncle Dal seemed to have something on his mind, so I had to keep my Dean circus act up, 'cept I wasn't a clown (those are creepy, Daddy doesn't like them either) I kept asking him about cake, a little bit because I wanted to know and a little bit because I knew it would give him something to lecture me about, that's good for guys like Uncle Dal. Even Gramma looked run off her feet, so I sat with her and clapped and sang while the kids did the Dean's show. I didn't know the words, but Gramma did, so I just pretended to sing; I know it made her happy to see me on my birthday. Then Papa. I think Papa needed me the most today. Probably still does, but caretaker Dean time is over. I want cake. I want to be naked. I want Daddy – though not necessarily in that order. Hell, I even want Tigger to have that Daddy drink he keeps nagging me about. Speaking of which. "Papa, where's Tigger?"

Papa stands up and looks around. "Ah ha, there he is, he must have fallen while you slept, don't want to forget him." He scoops him off the ground for me and I take him hugging him to me. Papa smiles and fixes my hair as we walk back to the party.

I observe everything grumpily with Tigger. People try to say 'hi' to me and 'Happy Birthday Dean,' but I'm not ready to socialize, so I hide in Papa's shoulder. "He just woke up," Papa tells them.

Finally we reach Daddy. "Look what the cat dragged in, there's my Dean Bean," he says reaching arms out to me. I don't know why I fucking cry, it's what I wanted, but I cry when I'm finally with Daddy and have my face in his clean smelling hair. "It's a long day of too much partying for Dean, isn't it?" Daddy says for my ears only as we walk with Papa outside where there aren't too many people.

"He slept the whole hour and a half," Papa tells Daddy.

"You stayed with him the whole time?"

"I found a rocking chair and…I enjoyed the cuddles."

I'm a little unfair when handing out cuddles, I know it, but I can't help it. I just need Daddy lots and Papa for other things, sometimes. Daddy sways me side to side like he knows how I like and I'm immediately soothed. Blanket and Tigger came with me to the Daddy train, so I burrow into them a moment longer before I decide to come out. "Daddy?"

Daddy laughs. "Daddy knows, Pumpkin. We're going to have cake right now. How about you go tell Mama and your mother Cassy? I'll change him and clean him up a bit."

Papa hands the diaper bag off to Daddy. "Of course, Baby."

"Did you have a nice snooze, baby boy?"

"Did Daddy."

"Bet you're hungry again too, which means you've got lots of room for all that yucky sugar."

I'm not buying what you're selling Daddy. "Dean _likes_ sugar, Daddy. Is not yucky."

"I know you do," he says removing my shorts. "Don't worry, you'll get lots of cake, Daddy's just not looking forward to your sugar crash."

Well that's what you signed up for Daddy. I'm very fucking excited about all the sugar and I'm not giving it up for anything. Daddy changes my diaper, then sits me on the counter to wipe my face with a cloth from my diaper bag that I don't appreciate. "Daaadddy! Dean doesn't like that!"

"Don't you want to look nice for your cake time? There's going to be pictures."

"No!"

"Dean Winchester," he says sternly.

"Don't like that cloth Daddy," I complain a little nicer. Even Daddy has his limits to naughtiness. I know it's not nice to tell Daddy and Papa 'no' like that.

"You're lucky it's your birthday party, Sur. There. You're aaaallll ready now. Ready for the biggest cake you've ever seen?"

"Yeah, Daddy."

We head outside where I see they've got a giant cake set up on a giant table. My eyes bug out of my head. It is the biggest cake I've ever seen and it's a giant Tigger! Tigger smirks at me. That guy! I shake my head just a little. I mean, it's a bit egotistical (Michael taught me that word) to think your best friend wants a cake of you, but you know what? It's too awesome not to like. I put two and two together; bet that's the other reason he came to Gramma's early. He posed for this, didn't he? The guy could have put some clothes on for it, just saying. I give him a big hug though; this is really special.

Everyone bursts out into the birthday song and I bet the whole county can hear it – I have a big fucking family. Daddy and I walk toward the cake, me in Daddy's arms. It's a really good replica of Tigger. And the icing is black, white, orange and delicious looking. I want to lick it so bad. Wonder if Daddy and Papa will let me eat a whole Tigger eyeball?

The candles are pretty far into the cake. When they finish singing Daddy has to lean me over to blow them out. I suck at blowing though and spit flies all over the cake, but finally, after three tries, I blow them out (though I think Daddy helped me), everyone claps. By this point I've changed my mind. I think I want his tail – his whole tail! I point at the cake. "It's Tigger."

"Sure is Dean Bean," Daddy says putting me down on a chair right in front of the cake.

"Just gonna get the knife and plates sweet pea," Nana Colt says.

What? C'mon people. Organization. You should have brought that stuff out when you brought the fucking cake out. I can't wait any longer. I've been good. So, so good. A really good boy. Fuck it. I'm eating some fucking cake. Papa and everyone else are too far away to stop me, so I wait 'till Daddy turns away for a split second, set real Tigger down, then dive into the cake mouth first. Fucking yum! This cake is delicious! But that's not all, I like the squishy way it feels between my fingers, I like the spongy softness under my knees. It's my very own cake pool that I can eat.

That's as far as I get before the whole crowd is laughing at the Dean show. Daddy grabs me out of the cake, but it's too late, I'm covered head to toe in orange and black frosting. I think we can safely say this white outfit is toast. "Hey! That's mine," I say pointing to the cake. Daddy looks like he's not sure if he should scold me, or laugh. I'm a little afraid to look at Papa, so I don't. It was a heat of the moment decision and I have no regrets…'till I look at Papa then I'm sure I'll regret big time.

Nana Colt comes racing back, Daddy's still got me suspended in the air not sure what to do with me. She's got plates and a knife, a trail of others following her out with trollies of plates. She does start laughing. "Well look at you, you look like a vanilla cupcake frosted in Tigger fur."

"Sorry Mama. I'll go clean him up. Not sure what to do with him though, this is a job for the bathtub."

"I know what to do with him," Papa speaks up coming to relieve Daddy from the Dean cupcake. My tummy swoops a little bit, he's going to spank me, I know it. Even I know how naughty jumping in a cake is. He sets me down on the grass and begins removing my shirt, shoes then my shorts. Is he going to do it in front of everyone? On my birthday?

When I'm in nothing but my diaper, he places me back down, feet first into the cake. "Go nuts, Kiddo."

GUW

I look at my husband like he's completely lost it. Dean on the other hand doesn't waste time waiting for Papa's sanity to return and starts playing with and eating the cake in nothing but his diaper. He looks happier than I've seen him all day. "You can cut that side," he instructs Mama and his mother. "This entire half is for Dean."

"Cas?" I'm still in shock, icing all over my hands, which Cas comes over with a napkin to start wiping for me.

"It's the only thing he's wanted all day, Sam. Our boy hasn't even bothered looking at the giant table of presents. Dean wanted cake and to frolic naked."

"But you said—"

I'm interrupted by a statuesque figure I've seen a handful of times before and suddenly Jared and Jensen are there, surrounding him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up there tinkerbell," Jensen says pushing at his chest. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"It's okay, Jensen. I've seen this angel before. Not sure I caught your name," I say hoping he'll fill in the blank.

"Tom and I don't have time for this. Step aside, hunters. My business is with Dean Winchester. This is a gift from Michael." He holds up the box wrapped in blue he's carrying.

"We'll take that, thanks. Hand it here and get your holy ass packing."

"Jensen," I warn.

Tom looks to me pleadingly. "I'm on borrowed time. I must make sure Dean gets this, I am to ensure he opens it."

"Dean's a little preoccupied right now." Thank the good lord Michael's not here. He'd have a bird seeing Dean in all that frosting. "May I accept on his behalf?"

"Yes. I know you are Sam Winchester," he says businesslike. "Michael said you may receive the gift on his behalf if he is unable." He holds it out to me, urging me to open it quickly.

Jensen's eyes are set to stun, but Jared holds him back. Cas takes a few steps closer to Dean. Cas likes angels about as much as Jensen does. I don't think Jared _likes_ them either, but he's willing to give this one leeway if I am. I couldn't recall his name, but I did remember his face; I know he's with Michael. I still take a deep breath before I open the box, inside is an iPad. Michael's on the screen. "Mr. Winchester?"

"Michael?" I say pulling the iPad the rest of the way out of the box.

"I wanted to surprise Dean. I figured he was tired of viewing me from a tiny screen. Is he available?" He makes it sound like we were depriving him. As if we couldn't buy Dean an iPad if we wanted.

And Lordy Bee. I really don't want to show him the Dean day cake. "He's eating his cake right now. You want to call off your angel? People are staring." Only certain family members know the full truth about Dean and about what Jared and Jensen do.

"Sorry about that. I would have come myself if I could have. Tom, you can come back now."

Tom leers at both Jared and Jensen before he stalks off. When he reaches a point where no one can see him, except those really paying attention, he vanishes. "Better?" Michael asks.

"Much."

"May I please just say a quick hello to Dean? I won't interrupt his cake time long."

Michael's got that terrible look in his blue eyes – he's sad and he's hurting. He's having a rough time without Dean. I cave. "Dean Bean, Michael wants to say hello to you."

"Michael?" Dean must miss Michael too, to give up playing in a cake for any amount of time. He climbs down from his cake massacre to the grass where I'm standing, I squat down to show him the iPad.

" _Good grief!_ " The angel has a conniption. "What happened to you?"

"Dean's playing in the cake – Papa says," Dean's quick to add. I can tell he thinks he's the luckiest boy alive.

Michael shakes his head. "I didn't think it was possible: Papa Winchester's gone Colt. It's a good thing I didn't come. It sounds contagious."

"I have not gone Colt," Cas insists in his angry, gravelly voice. "Winchesters give their family what they need when they need it." Whether it's a good spanking, or a cake playground he doesn't add, but we all know it.

"Uh, Papa Winchester…didn't see you there," Michael says running a hand through his hair. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly Cas can make Michael nervous.

"Dean's full of cake, Michael," Dean says patting his cake smeared belly.

"I see you're still into stating the obvious. How are they going to get all that cake off of you?"

"Like this," Dean says then licks his arm.

"Okay, I can't take it anymore. Not if I can't do anything about it. Call me when you no longer resemble a frosted jack-o-lantern."

We hang up with Michael. "Papa, Dean can still play in the cake?"

"Go ahead, Kiddo."

Dean runs back to the table, scaling the chair, he's back in the cake in seconds. "He's going to have cake in his toenails Cas," I say as he pulls me to him. Jared and Jensen accept pieces of cake from some of the helpers Mama and Claire have commandeered to hand it out.

"It's better than glitter any day, Baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edelweiss:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMuTDdWXbNo
> 
> Lonely Goatherd:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaD9Ozdthg8
> 
> My favorite Things:   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_KfL71yf2Y


	15. Over Partied, Underslept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sincerely hoping this chapter is not a disappointment. Aka: No discipline and/or porn this chapter...but it's coming!! I did really enjoy writing this chapter. 
> 
> **Mock's Plan:** I'm posting this chapter now and plan on posting the next for this story soon (already written, just needs to be typed up), so you can see the Chally talk (you want to see the Chally talk *wink*) but want to get a WW chapter up before I do that, since I've been getting requests. 
> 
> We don't see Dean's POV this chapter, but in the next, we get some special Papa/Dean time from his POV, so that's coming too! 
> 
> **Summary:** It's all coming, I swear!

"An', an', an', Papa says, play in the cake Dean 'Chester," Dean says giggling as I towel him down. Thankfully someone had a proper towel in their car they didn't mind having destroyed. The dish towels from the kitchen just didn't cut it. We're still outside in front of the cake massacre. I had to remove his diaper (which was dyed orange – so much dye in that icing Dean consumed I don't want to think about) so now Dean is full on naked in front of his crowd of adoring fans.

I'm not saved from being icing painted either. It's in my hair, on my clothes, Daddy needs a shower too. Cas left to start a crew to load presents into the cars. There are too many for Dean to do a full on opening. We always encourage people to donate to the church in his name, or even his education (even though he doesn't really need that either) but he still manages to get a mountain of gifts.

I can't wrap Dean in the towel, it's caked with icing, so he gets to be how he wanted all along: buck naked. "Come here cake monster." I pull him up by his arm and he latches his legs around me like a monkey.

"What we doing Daddy?"

"Going to find a sink and get you some clothes." I don't tell him the full story yet. Foolishly, I only brought him pajamas. I knew he'd get that other outfit dirty, but I planned on letting him, 'till it got closer to the time we decided to leave. If I know my family, this thing's going to go on all night and end with a Colt bash, but Cas and I will likely take off early like all the other parents with little ones and maybe show up later if the Winchesters will agree to watch him.

"Doesn't need clothes, Daddy."

Here we go again. I head to the washroom with him and the diaper bag, but get a better idea once I'm half-way there. I decide on finding Georgia instead. She'll be able to help me, always has been able to.

"Well hello there, our little naked Dean-shine. Did you have fun playing in the cake?"

"Did, aunty."

"Good, you should have that kind of fun on your birthday."

She's got one of her twins on her hip, resting above the little one on the way, her eldest Sammy junior, is nearby with the other twin, her husband, Blake's got Austin. They've got four boys and are excited to have their first little girl. "I need your help, Georgia. I need clothes and a quick bath for Dean." She lives close by. It'll be easier than heading back to the Winchester's and she's sure to have something that'll fit Dean.

"Not like my big brother to be unprepared," she winks.

"I don't think anyone's crystal ball could have predicted Cas letting Dean play in a cake."

"True. I thought he done lost his marbles. Let me just tell Blake. Jesse and I will take you. There are two car seats in my SUV."

The four of us, pile into her SUV with the two car seats, Georgia drives and yes, Dean's naked. Georgia convinced me not to bother with a diaper since, it's just a short trip, but I'm still worried he'll pee despite the stern warning I gave him not to.

Dean and his cousin Jesse are the same age, least now they are. Jesse will be older than him eventually. I know, once upon a time, Dean hated that Crowley slowed down his aging process, looking forward to returning to his pre-us age and life, but so much has changed now. Dean's not even that person anymore, not really. He's got that moddler sparkle in his eyes, he can, at times, come up with slightly mature ideas, but he's very much our three-year-old boy and he doesn't worry about things like when he'll turn four…well not so far as the actual aging part. I'm sure I will get questions about his next birthday party and when does he get to eat cake next, but he's certainly not worried that Jesse will turn four, the year he might or might not turn four. I know that might change as he gets older, but for now, it's just me thinking on those things.

For now, they're two little three-year-olds, chatting about three-year-old things. Since they're just chatting and not in need of anything from me, I text Cas to tell him we've left for a minute and that we'll be right back.

"Dang it's good to see you big brother. I keep sayin' that, I know, but it is. We sure miss you around here."

"We miss y'all too."

"We all knew you'd be a good Daddy. You and Cas gonna have anymore?"

I love my little monster more than anything, but I can't imagine being double, or triple teamed, because I know Dean and I know he would orchestrate that take over. Dean already has Papa wrapped around his little finger, I'm sure a brother and, or sister would only strengthen his powers. Our boy is so darn smart, too; it's hard to keep one step ahead of just one Dean 'Chester and his angel, imagine a whole army of them?

Besides, "Dean won't let us," I tell her, leaving out the other bits. She'll never believe it anyway, me, Samuel Captain of the Colt ship, afraid of having more than one child.

She laughs. "Never thought I'd see the day Sam Colt was taken down by just one tyke, but here we are."

 _Or maybe she would._ Dean's completely ruined my rep. I turn back to look at my naked little boy, sitting nicely in the car seat, telling his cousin all about how much fun it was to swim in the cake and how his papa is the best and smiling. Dean can have my rep.

"Hush. We're happy just the three of us." But those who know us better, know it's actually the six of us, since you can't have the California branch Winchesters without Dally, Michael and Pala. Some would even argue there are seven of us. Tigger of course. That's plenty.

I get one of Georgia's all knowing smiles.

"'Sides, with the rest of us Colts reproducing like bunnies, I figure I'm helping control the population."

We laugh at that together. We know our family is responsible for at least fifty percent of the population, in Wuthering County, Texas.

"Mama, I wanna be naked too, like Dean," little Jesse says.

See? Dean's already got a minion. It never takes him long. "No one's bein' naked long. We're taking Dean to get dressed," she tells her little guy.

"Don't wanna be dressed Aunty," Dean says.

"You don't?"

"No."

She laughs. "You want to get a sunburn on your wee willy winky, Sur?"

I laugh at the expression on Dean's face. "She means your little Dean, baby boy," I explain.

He thinks about that a minute. "Daddy? Dean can have a diaper, please?"

"Yes, Sur. Coming right up."

GUW

**Chris**

Caroline drags me to the large room, where the Colt brothers, sisters and cousins have already gathered; the Colt bash has officially begun. It's mostly the Colts without kids, though it looks like a few of them have ditched their children (with a spouse, likely).

I'm handed a beer, soon as I walk through the door, there's music from someone's phone into the loud speakers; there's even another buffet table of food, the party extends out back of the Hall. I take a long pull of beer and try not to make it obvious that I'm looking for Dallas, who can kiss my go to hell if he doesn't want to speak to me.

The number of Colts is overwhelming as is and when the rest of them have babies, it's going to be a nightmare. How do they keep track of them all? "Looks like most of the younger kids have gone home," Caroline says. "Time for some big kid fun."

"Yeah, saw Sammy and Georgia leave in a car with Dean and Jesse," Jamie says, walking up to us. I'm not sure if he's old enough to drink, but looks like it doesn't matter, 'cause I know Hunter's not and he's got a beer too.

"Only Dean and Sam? How about Castiel?"

"Didn't see him with them," he shrugs. "When's the real music coming?"

"Dal's on his way," Caroline tells him.

My body doesn't seem to care that my mind's pissed at him; it gets a warm tingle at the mention of his name and excitement bubbles in my belly, knowing he'll be here soon. _Wonder if he likes being a singing circus._

"That was some show the two of you put on," Jamie says. "I didn't know the two 'a you chummed around together."

Crap. Don't know what to say to that. I know he's fishing for information. Guess we did get pretty cozy up there. Thankfully Caroline swoops in to the rescue. "Mind your own beeswax James Leroy."

"Was just sayin', jeez." Thankfully he escapes after that, under Caroline's cold gaze. I don't want him asking anymore questions about Dallas I don't want to answer.

Clarabelle's next to approach us. "Hells bells, my brother can play and he can sing!"

 _Man. I'm gonna keep hearin' about it, ain't I?_ "Yeah. Guess."

"My big brother's got a crush on someone, too."

"Say it louder. I don't think anyone heard you. Jesus H, Clarabelle."

"He sure does," Caroline supplies helpfully not worrying about me this time, when it's my own sister. Guess it's my problem when it's my family, which isn't fair; my family's a lot harder to manage than any Colt.

They both laugh at me. "Well, if you want my advice, tell Daddy."

"Why's everyone keep sayin' that? I'm moved out. I don't gotta tell no one. I should be able to do what I want. Things with you are different, you haven't left home yet."

"Yeah, but you're Daddy's special one. He won't have it Chris. You wanna date someone, especially if that someone's already in the family, he's gonna wanna know."

This is stupid. Even my baby sister's on my case. "I'm not Father's 'special one.' You and Castiel are his special children; I'm just the black sheep. He's always cross with me."

She looks me over, like she's deciding whether or not to fill me in on a secret she's surprised I don't know. "You tell him Christian Aaron. I already made that mistake, it got everyone else in trouble and let me tell you, it feels bad. Don't be your stubborn self."

"I don't need my baby sister tellin' me what to do."

"Fine, then I will," Caroline says. "I'll make sure he does it Clarabelle."

Dang, she will, she really will. "You two can cool it. Castiel's already on my ass about it. He's said he'll take care of it." I realize once the words leave my mouth, how childish that sounds. They flustered me. I blush and duck my head then try to recover, quick. "Point is, that's enough y'all." I do my best to sound like Castiel. It doesn't seem to have the same effect. They do let up and begin chattering about other stuff, which I listen to, but don't add to. Besides. I'm too damn nervous. Dals is gonna be here any minute; I can feel it. I both want to see him and don't. My stomach's turning. _Maybe he's changed his mind about us. Too much trouble._

I know when he walks in and I gotta look at him. Can't help it, it's like breathing. Speaking of, I take one, a deep one. I forget to breathe sometimes when Dallas is near. He walks in, guitar at the ready, looking solid as a mountain. The wind stops square its tracks when it meets Dallas Colt. His eyes search for me, find me. I look away.

Then he starts to play, right there, coming through the entryway. _American Kid's_ by Kenney Chesney. _Dals's favorite._

He plays songs, until we forget we were ever here for a kid's party and I have another beer, since I'm not driving. Brady shows up and whisks Caroline away after she gives me a kiss on the cheek and tells me she'll be back when she can be. Clarabelle leaves for who knows where. I sit and watch him as he walks around the room singing. Can't take my eyes off him. Don't even make it secret after awhile. I'm practically leering at him.

Soon as he finishes and they replace him with the iPhone again, he drops down beside me. "Howdy Cowboy. This seat taken?"

"No, sir."

"All right." He leans his guitar against a chair and makes himself more comfortable, our knees touch, but that's it. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," I say. I'm shy all over again— _this ever gonna go away?_

"Been missing you all day, sugar."

"Y-you have?" Then why didn't he respond to my text. "Ain't you mad at me?"

"Mad? Should I be?"

 _That voice._ Like Castiel's, but not. Makes my whole body long for him in a way that's got nothing to do with sex. Not that I want _that_ from him; I'm embarrassed just thinking about it. I feel like a damn freak wanting that; him to spank me. But lord, what would it be like to have my pants pulled down by him; turned over his knee, those large hands on me, one to hold me down and one to…

Dallas laughs when it takes me too long to respond. "I didn't text back, 'cause what I got to say's too long and too intimate for text."

Oh.

"Here's not the place either, but just so you're not chewing all night, I wanna begin by sayin' that if we're gonna date, we're gonna communicate Chris. No ifs, ands, or buts on that one, understand?"

The way he says that…I can't…can't breathe. Can't breathe; can't speak. I'm speechless him talking to me like that, so I just nod.

"Verbally please, Sur. I don't want any misunderstandings."

Now that just makes it worse.

"Yes, Dallas. I understand."

"Thank you. We're gonna talk later, soon as Cas gives us the okay, which'll hopefully be soon. I wanna dance with you."

"Dean and Sam left. Jamie said so," I blurt, trying to change the topic. Distract myself. The way he talks makes my knees weak.

"Without Cas?" He's already pulling out his phone.

"S'what Jamie said."

He types up a text and sends it. "I'll find out what's happening," he says winking. "Meantime, how about we plan on your place tonight?"

I should tell him no. I think I can guess what he's going to want to talk about, but I cant talk about that stuff, I just can't. It's damn near impossible to tell him 'no,' when he looks at me like he does. Like I'm something special. Dallas makes everyone feel like that. "Yeah. Let's plan on it. You're really not mad?"

"Not mad."

All the weight I felt earlier lifts, like it never happened.

Dallas gets a text. "Aha! Georgia took Sam to her place, they're getting Dean some clothes, but sounds like our sweet nephew is on a sugar high."

"What's that mean?"

"It means we should find Cas before they're back. Sam'll have to give Dean to Cas to calm him down."

"If Dean's misbehaved, Castiel won't hold back, even on his birthday. Sam wouldn't pawn him off like that, would he?"

"Pawn him off? Dean may be just a little mite, but he knows when he needs, firm Papa-style comfort. Cas is pretty amazing with him, if you want my two cents."

My brother? Amazing with a three-year-old? Castiel ain't exactly known for his tolerance. I've seen my brother with Dean, he's petty strict with him. I'm not sure if amazing's the word I'd use. Not that Castiel isn't a good Father, he is, but he's…stern, stuffy, like our father. Clyde. _Who hasn't done much to endear me to him._ I love our father, I do, I just wish we got along better. That I wasn't such a fuck up in his eyes. "If you say so, Dals." I'm doubtful.

"C'mon. Let's go find him, see if he talked to Clyde and do me a favor, Chris?"

"Yeah?"  
"Take another look. It ain't so bad bein' Dean, or Sam. They adore their firm, strict, Cas."

GUW

Call me the 'negative Nelly,' like Sam says, but I want this party over. I'm grouchy, tired and I want my little family safe and taken care of. That might sound strange to you. Of course Dean and Sam are safe, surrounded by all these family members, but 'safe' and 'taken care of' have different contexts for me. For us.

When all of their needs are met, each of their specific needs I've come to know and provide for, then I know they're 'safe' and 'taken care of.' I want to take them both home to my parents house and take five, so I can check in with both, properly. It often gets like this for me with this much chaos.

But I can't do what I'd like to right now. Not only are they not ever here, we have to do things like say goodbye when they do return, I've got to finish organizing where all Dean's gift go (I've had to orchestrate several car loads) and I've still got to speak with my father as promised, before I go.

I've noticed the younger Colts have disappeared, meaning it's really thinned out and is awfully quiet, which means they've likely already started the Colt bash out back, which is sure to follow this. Many of the guests with younger kids (kids my son's age) have left already.

Sam's going to want to go to the Colt bash—a whole other headache for me to contemplate. I know for sure I'm not going. Papa needs an early night.

When I finally find father, he's with Sam's father. To this day, Sam and I are baffled by their easy friendship. They're very different people and it's those differences, that seem to intrigue them both. Our parents often do things together.

"That was real sweet what you did for Dean," Samuel Sr. says. "But tell me, my son throw a fit?" He laughs like Dallas.

"Not yet, sir."

"I bet it's comin'. Anyway, glad I caught you. Wanted to say goodbye to y'all. Gotta help Adelaide and the rest of the kitchen pack up their wares. Are Dean and Sam around?"

"They went to grab Dean something from Georgia's."

"Give'em both a kiss for me then. We'll see y'all in a week and a half if not before."

The grandparents are good about being respectful of the other set's time with us. Not that we never mix gatherings, like now, but they don't pressure us to come over when we're visiting with the other set, leaving the making of visiting plans up to us. "I'll tell them and we'll see you at Church tomorrow, sir." He looks surprised we're coming to church, but doesn't say anything and wraps me in a strong hug before he heads off.

My father doesn't move to go with him—that's what he pays the staff for. He thinks Mother's crazy for helping with clean-up and can't say I blame him. I hire staff for the same reason: so I don't have to do it, but Sam's like his mama that way. He'd be in there helping too, if they'd let him, but he's been banned from all work today by the 'Colt board of directors.' "Got something on your mind, son?"

I might as well come out with it. If he finds out, we're all in trouble. Least this way, it's likely to just be me. "Earlier when you said Dallas is a fine boy, sir, did that mean…would you be all right with them dating? I'm pretty sure they're crazy about each other."

"Well I say, I say, I wasn't born yesterday, son. That's plain. What do you think about them dating?" he says raising a brow.

"I have concerns, Father. The obvious one, like if it doesn't work out, how will that impact future family functions?"

"You don't think they're mature enough to handle a fall out?"

"Dallas is, but Christian? I'm not sure." I'm not sure I know anything about Christian anymore after today. I'm looking at him with different eyes, that’s for sure.

"Christian needs good influence, good influence like Dallas Colt. That's my two cents and that's where I'm leaving it."

I'm still unclear. "So does that mean—"

"It means, I hope Dallas will fill Christian with enough sense to come to me himself, which is what you should have done."

His words are powerful enough, my whole being sinks. Top, bottom, brat, alpha…we all have someone we want to please, someone we look up too. _I'm really striking out today._

"Yes, sir. I have been counseling Christian in that regard, but he seems to think that him being moved out excuses him from talking to you about this." I don't mean to 'rat him out,' which is how he'll look at me telling our father that, but I need to be clear. I'm the next Head of Family; I need to understand Father's methods and actions.

He takes a long inhale. "Some parents believe in using identical parenting techniques for each child on account it's 'fair.' But I don't believe that's fair. What's fair, what's right, is to parent the child how he needs to be parented even if that's different from another child. If this was you Castiel, then Christian would be right. I wouldn't expect you to tell me until it was more serious, but Christian is a different person as is Clarabelle. Christian should know he's supposed to tell me. If he's saying different, he's ignoring that rule. I want him talking this over with me, before I allow it, even if he's moved out. I know it ain't marriage, but Christian's never expressed this kinda interest in someone before. I want to talk with them both. Is that understood?"

And he's disappointed in me. He doesn't say it, but he is. "Yes, sir."

"I'd better go pull Claire away from the kitchen before Adelaide has her washing it too."

I can't help smiling…that's what Sam would do; wash the kitchen. "And Castiel, that was a good thing you did for my grandson. I approve. If you didn't, I would have."

"You would have?" Somehow, I don't think so.

"'Course I would have. I'd do a lot more for him than that, but 'parently I'm not 'allowed' to buy Dean a horse 'till his sixth birthday. Allowed?" he scoffs. "Of all the ridiculous…"

Now we're in my territory. I've become more comfortable in such matters. "Father, we've talked about this."

I get a deep set glare. "We'll see you back at the house. There's more for you and I to discuss about Clarabelle," he says crisply before heading toward the kitchen.

None of this improves my mood.

I check my phone, there's a text from Sam. _Heading back soon with a sugar monster delivery for you._

Knew that was coming. I scrub my face and my sore, tired eyes in both hands. _I can do this._ Get through the rest of now, and go to bed early with my son after I somehow manage to convince him to sleep in his own bed.

As I'm trying to devise a plan for that, my other problem comes waltzing back in. I frown at them both, since they're holding hands and I told them both to keep it cool for today. I'm worried I'm losing my touch until the look on my face succeeds in getting them to pull their hands away from the other and they have the sense to look chagrined. "So? You talk to him?" Christian asks.

I hate having to do this, especially since I can tell they're just excited about the love budding between them, but it must be done. "You two didn't obey me. I asked for one thing from the both of you. I'm especially disappointed in you, Dallas." He knows why.

"We did obey brother Cas, I swear. Clyde hasn't seen us. It's just been text messages and, well, uh, now. We were sure you'd pull through for us, is all."

"That's not the point, you know better Dallas. Just because he can't see you, doesn't make it right. I said to give me the day. You know how I feel about finding loopholes." Even Dallas looks at the ground for the look I'm giving them both now.

"Yes, sir."

Christian looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. "I'm far too tired to deal with either of you at the moment." I scrub my face again. It's getting harder to keep my eyes open, pretty sure I could fall asleep standing up if I wanted. "But I did talk to him as promised and the verdict hasn't changed: You two have to speak with him directly."

Christian's body tensed. "It'll be all right, darlin'," Dallas murmurs, rubbing Christian's arm. "Yes, sir," he says to me once Christian is taken care of.

My ears pick out a familiar cry that's getting closer and louder. "Shhh, Dean Bean," Sam says. "We're going to see Papa. Look, there he is."

"Dean doesn't want to wear this, Daddy!"

Sam looks stressed out and like he's doing the thing where he's trying not to be mad at me, but he is. Dean's all clean, but Sam's still got icing on his shirt; least it looks like he's managed to get it out of his hair. Dean's tugging on said shirt he doesn't want to wear and it looks like all Sam could get on him was a diaper; no pants. Sam promptly hands me our crying son and the pair of shorts he likely won't wear. "Papa, Dean wa-wants to be naked-Dean. Papa says! Papa says!"

He takes Papa says very seriously and literally.

"He's confused," Sam explains. "He won't have my explanation and he's high on sugar."

Dean wraps his legs around me, he's gotten bigger, but he still fits well around my torso and points to Daddy (bad guy), telling me his three-year-old woes in a mumbled cry. I'm just as cranky as he is, I want to spank him and be done with it, but sometimes, even this tired, a few stern Papa words is all he needs; I owe it to him to go that route first.

"Hush, kiddo. Naked time is over. It's time to put shorts on."

"Papa says, can be naked Dean 'Chester."

"I did, you were and now Papa says it's time for clothes. We're going home now anyway. It's been a long day, hasn't it Mr. Chester?"

He answers by rubbing his head into my shoulder, still crying, but not complaining. _Sometimes, you just need the solid feel of Papa._ I hold my hand out for Dean's soother, Sam (able to read my mind) hands it to me.

That's the point I notice Christian watching us; more specifically, me with Dean, studying us.

Dean lets me sway him as I pop his soother in his mouth. The gentle sway would put me to sleep if I let it, but I fight to keep my eyes open. Sam's features relax and I think I'm forgiven for whatever he was pissed at me for, which was most likely the amount of cake I allowed him to consume. After a minute, Dean pulls his head from my shoulder to look up at me and pops his soother out. "Is not naked time no more, Papa?"

Sam rolls his eyes skyward, looking for help from above. He likely explained that several times, but apparently, he had to hear it from me. "That's right. Naked time is over."

"O-okay, Papa," he says with a hitched breath.

I use the thumb side of my palm to wipe his face; tears, snot, everything. My brother still watching, shocked. He's seen me before with Dean, not sure what he's looking at this time. "Thanks for calming down kiddo. Let's get you back to Gramma Chester's house."

He puts his head back down on my shoulder, nodding into it. "That's a good idea Papa. Dean's tired of the party."

"Lordy Bee, Dean. He cried from Georgia's to here."

"He did? Is that true Mister Winchester?"

"I-it is not!" Dean says angrily.

It's hard not to laugh at that one, but I can tell he's riding the edge of a fit. He may have calmed down some, but that can quickly changed. "Okay, let's go. Where's Tigger?"

"In the diaper bag, since he hit Daddy with him," Sam says a bit crossly.

"Dean."

"S-sorry, Papa."

"I think it's sorry to Daddy, don't you?"

That sets him off crying again and reaching for Daddy—Papa cuddle time is over. "Dean, Dean's sorry, Daddy…"

I pass our boy back to Sam and Sam takes him, letting Dean latch on. He always looks so much smaller when Sam's holding him. "It's okay, Dean Bean. C'mon sweetheart. No more crying, okay?" It's Sam's turn to sway him and hush him and he settles pretty quick, sucking on his soother.

"Clean up's taken care of," I say to Sam, taking the diaper bag off of him and sling it over my shoulder. Before I lead us out to the car I turn to the troublesome, twosome. "If we were at home, I would have grounded you for this Dallas. Here, I’m not sure what your consequence should be. We'll talk later."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry brother Cas."

"Christian, I'm disappointed that my earlier admonishment meant nothing. I'd spank you again if I had time, I'm sure we can make time at a later date."

He's abashed when I give him my disappointed stare. "Yes, sir." 

"We'll talk to Mr. Winchester, brother Cas, before we go any further, promise, but uh, first, there are some things we need to figure out. Would you be all right with us talking? In private?"

I put my hand to my temple and rub. "Yes, yes. Fine. But sort it out and sort it out quick." I don't mean to be short with them, but my head is starting to ache and my concern over my upset boy is rising. I have to get him home and we've still got goodbyes, which are likely to take at minimum an hour. With a cranky boy, that's going to be fun. "C'mon Sam."


	16. Chally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter was too long, so I'm splitting it up into two chapters. 
> 
> **WARNING** : This chapter is pretty much ALL Chally. Sorry. Just how it worked out, but there's some spanky fun, so I hope that makes up for it. 
> 
> But Chapter 17 is ALL Dean and Cas with a side of Sam. Both chapters are typed up, so I will post one now and one this eve. I want to make sure chapter 17 is just a little bit better than it is right now, so gonna edit. But you'll get both before Wednesday. I will also respond to all comments by this evening. 
> 
> For those of you who don't read For You, I made an announcement that there will be writing delays, because Mock is going for surgery, but, it's just a day thing and I'll be back and at'em in a couple days, then will have 20 days off to write, write, write!

DALLY

Man. I feel like a first class heel. Cas tried to help us, even with everything else he's got going on and…I just don't know what my problem is. All I could think about all day was Chris. I was worried about him. It gnawed on my last nerves is what it did. I plan on telling Cas that and more when he speaks with me. If he wants me to be grounded, or even spanked, I deserve it.

But right now, I've got Chris to tend to. He doesn’t look so good. "Caroline won't mind dropping off your guitar another time. What do you say we ditch this party? I can drive us to your place and we can talk."

"I'm not telling my father Dallas. Us talking is pointless."

That stings. Not going to lie. But I'm pretty sure (from watching Sam, Cas and Dean) that's part of this. I decide to take a chance (got nothing to lose) and Chris is worth any risk. "No one's saying you gotta do anything yet. We're just talking. I think I've earned talking, don't you?"

He has to think on it, but eventually he nods. "Yeah, suppose you've earned it."

I can't help but laugh, he's so darn cute. "Okay then, cowboy. Come with me."

SAM

Dean's not exactly happy in his car seat, but he's sucking his soother, quietly for now. It's been a long day, too much sugar, too much party time, too many things varying from his usual schedule—this is the price paid with little ones and parties.

Cas is plain in a bad mood, which speaks volumes to how much patience he's gained having Dean. I'm pretty sure pre-Dean Cas would have spanked first, asked questions later. I want to ask what happened with our brothers, but am certain part of his bad mood is to do with them. I'll wait 'till he's in a better mood before I start on that, but there is one thing, a time sensitive thing I want to ask.

"Uh, Cassy? Are we going to the Colt bash? I know you're tired, but maybe after you have a nap? You know they go all night."

"I'm not going Sam," he snaps then immediately feels bad for being short with me. I frown, but not because of his shortness. Cas and I have been around each other too long for me to get upset at every little snap. I'm frowning, because if Cas isn't going, that usually means I'm not going either. "You can go, Baby," he's quick to assure me. "But first I need…I need to settle us all. Would you mind going back after dinner?"

"Of course, Cassy."

"And I need…I know you haven't done anything, but can I—"

I put my hand over his. Even after all this time, sometimes he still gets nervous asking to spank me just because. It's not just safety to me, but to Cas as well. I'm sure today's left him feeling out of control. "Of course, Cassy. Anything you need."

CHRISTIAN

This is a waste of time. I'm not telling Father about Dallas and really don't know how I expected not to. Did I really think I was going to just fuck Dallas like a dirty secret? That we'd be able to hide? Especially in this town where everyone knows everyone and most of those everyones are his family members.

We arrive back at my place and right away, I notice something's changed in his demeanor. He's still sweet, soft spoken Dallas Colt, but now there's this solidness, a 'something' that makes him immovable. Wish I could just weave myself into him.

He barely waits 'till the door's shut behind him to turn around and make me face reality. "I realized something important today Chris," he pulls me to him, swift, hard – it damn near takes my breath away. "I want you, I want you so bad. You do somethin' to me I ain't never felt before, it's somethin' I wanna explore Chris, with you. To be honest, I don't know if I'm gonna be any good at it, but I think with you, it could be somethin' else, I'm willing to make a fool 'a myself doin' whatever it takes, whatever you need…bein' paitient…but I won't do it under false pretenses. I won't pretend I don't know, when I do."

"False pretenses? Won't pretend? What you talkin' bout Dals?"

"Yeah. The mask you live under, this lie. I want the real you, or nothing at all."

Fuck. This is a pickle. I want to say I don't know what he's talking about, guess I already tried that, but I do know what he's talking about. The thing I feel, the thing that makes me not quite right, a fucking freak, he can see it, likely better than I can. Don't know what to tell him, don't know who 'the real' Chris is, really. I just know this version. I don't want to be any other version. It leaves me one option. "Get out."

"No."

"I said, get out, Dallas Colt."

"And I said no—what now? You fixing on making me? Huh?"

_Why's his smile have to be so dang gorgeous?_

"Yeah, I am. Go. Get. And take your damn hat with you too." I throw it at him. A distant part of me, the part I like to squash down tight, ignore, deny ever existing is awake right now. For a reason I'd really like to know, Dallas seems to ignite that corner I've stuffed that part of me in and he comes out. I know what that part of me's doing too; testing. I'm testing him. Telling him to go, but hoping like fuck he'll stay, force his way into my life in the way he's talking. 'Cause there's no way I'll let it happen. No way I'll just roll over and be a 'Sam.' He'll have to make me.

He deftly catches the hat I threw, looking none too impressed, dusts it off and sets it on a hook by my front door. When a cowboy hangs his hat up at your front door, it means something, it means he intends to stay. My whole insides relax, while the outside of me tingles with nervous anticipation. He pauses briefly, assessing me, the smallest of twinkles in his eyes, before he lunges at me.

I run.

That's right, in my own place, I'm running, jumping over the coffee table and realizing there's not too many places to hide in my small place. I head for my bedroom, the door has a lock.

But he gets to the door before I can close it all the way and coming in behind me whether I want him to or not and stands in front of the door (after he's closed it) barring any chance of me exiting. I'm screwed.

"W-what are you gonna do, Dals?"

"This." He yanks me with him to the bed and I'm over his knee in a blink. He doesn't waste anytime and he's spanking me. Hard. Dallas's hand hurts even over my jeans. _I hope that's because my ass was already spanked once today._ It's also not long before I begin kicking up a fuss.

"What are you doing? Stop it Dallas! Ow! That hurts."

He doesn't. He keeps spanking me. Truth is, I _could_ get up if I really wanted, if I really tried, but all I want to do is give in, be a boneless heap over his knee, let him spank me 'till I'm sobbing.

"I'm no fool Christian Winchester and I won't be taken for one, you deserve a spanking for that alone."

In case anyone's curious, I'm super digging this big bad Dallas Colt. The one who doesn't put up with my nonsense. "I don't! I don't think you're a fool. Swear to Jesus!" I actually reach my hand back to block his hand, 'cause it's really starting to sting. Like we've done this a million times already, he grabs my hand and pins it to the middle of my back and keeps going with a rhythm that's as steady and as sure as he is.

"Come on, Dals. Ain't you going to let up?" I'm actually starting to tear up.

"Nope."

He keeps going with that irritatingly steady rhythm. I know exactly when he's going to spank, where and how hard and when he's going to switch cheeks. I wish just one of his spanks would be a little lighter, hell, I'll even take a little harder, just different…

"C'mon Dals, this ain't funny and it hurts."

"Supposed to."

He continues spanking me 'till I start to think about just getting up. Fuck this, I'm getting up. I struggle and try to push up.

"Stop moving, or I'm finding myself a hairbrush."

"Yes, sir," I say without even meaning to. I'm too damn conditioned. I'm surprised when he rubs instead of spanks.

"C'mon darlin', let go for me."

"I, I want to Dals," I sniffle. "But I just can't."

"Yes you can. For me you can. I'm gonna take good care of you. Always."

"It ain't supposed to be like this. I don't want to be like this."

"Shh. Hush. One step at a time. All you have to do right now is let go. Here, I'll make it easier for you."

I let him maneuver me like I'm one of the puppets the kids had earlier. He stands me up and goes for the button to my jeans. I take a deep breath. I'm thinking about Dean and Castiel earlier. Dean's only three, but he really does take comfort in Castiel's firm handling. It did make me curious, if maybe…maybe I had the right person, maybe I wouldn't feel so much like a freak for it. _Sam doesn't feel like a freak._

Dallas hesitates, looking for permission this time. I give it, closing my eyes and nodding, feeling like I'm jumping off a cliff. He undoes the button slow and the zipper too then peels my jeans down, still watching my eyes. This is different from before. What we did a second ago was really just boy on boy rough housing. Now we're taking it to an intimate place. It feels scary and kinda special at the same time.

He helps me out of my jeans completely. I think that's as far as he's going to go, so when I feel his fingers loop under the elastic of my boxers, I jump. "Those too?"

"You threw my Kenny Chesney hat, Sur."

Whoa. Him saying that makes my heart pound. I can't believe it myself, but I nod a second time hoping he'll just do it and I thank the lord when he does. Once my boxers are around my ankles, he pulls me back over his knees and now he's looking at my bare ass. I can't believe I'm here. I'm not even sure why I'm letting him do this…no that's a lie. I know. I've been wondering all damn day what this would be like. What would Dallas's hand feel like on my bare ass? Knowing it was a punishment and not just a fun spanking?

And something else.

When I was watching Cas with Dean, it was like I was experiencing it myself, feeling what Dean felt; the sureness of that someone…that someone who takes care of you when you're feeling overwhelmed. When you need reconciliation for, well, anything really. I was reminded that it's not always spanking; sometimes just the special firm tone, the one you know is just for you is pacifying. Someone to take over for you, give you instructions you can trust to follow, not question.

If I'm honest, and let me tell you, you're pretty dang honest with yourself when you're bare, over someone's knee about to get spanked, I had _that_ the special firmness and instruction when I lived at home, from Father _and_ Mother, but once I moved out, I was on my own…'cept the spankings that I'd, let's face it, push Father into. _Did the same with Castiel today._

Already, it's different than with either Father or Castiel. This is mine. Dallas is mine. This is just for me. "Hand please, Sur."

"What? C'mon Dals. I'm not a little kid. I won't—"

"You did a few moments ago."

"Fine." I give him my hand, he pins it to my back.

"Thank you."

He rubs a little and I quiver knowing this is going to hurt more on bare skin—and it does.

Dallas uses the same slow rhythm, the never varied spanks; he does switch cheeks, but not 'till he's given two to a cheek. It's good as far as spankings go. A jealous feeling pools in my gut as I wonder where he learned to spank so good.

"Let go," he reminds me. "I got you, darlin'. You ain't gonna have an ass left if you don't let go soon."

He lets me have a break, stopping to rub the sting out for me, switching his hold on the hand pinned to my back, so his fingers lace into mine. "I'm gonna try something else. After every spank, I want you to tell me what you're afraid of. What you're afraid this means."

I shake my head. "No. Please Dals, I can't, I'm not ready for that."

"I know you're not sugar, but I need you to be, _we_ need you to be. I mean it. I won't be with a fake version of you—it's already got us both into trouble we're not getting out of."

"I'm sorry Dallas. I really am…maybe, maybe you should just go. Quit wastin' your time on me."

"Waste my time? Nonsense. If you think I don't like spanking your purdy little ass, you would be wrong. Dead wrong."

That sends a small jolt to my cock that's trapped underneath me.

"C'mon sweetness. Just. Try."

Sounds so easy. Just. Try.

Can I do it?

CAS

I need him now. Just for a second.

(Sorry Dean)

Sam and I get out of the car, and I accost him just as he's opening the door to retrieve our son. I slam him against the car, grinding into him, push back his too long hair and kiss the fucking life out of him.

"Hey! Dean's in here daddies!"

I pull away from Sam, we both laugh. I don't think either of us has ever heard him say 'daddies,' or use it in the context before. I know I haven't, but I miss a lot because I work.

"Sorry sweetheart, Daddy's taking you right out of there. Papa just had to say he loved me real quick."

Dean's still pissed when Sam takes him out of the car, but he's thinking. "That's how Papa loves you, Daddy?"

"Yep and sometimes he just can't wait."

"Oh. Okay."

One of the many reasons I love Sam. He's quick with explanations for our three-year-old.

DALLY

Oh my fudging god. What in Jesus's name am I doing? Spanking Christian Winchester that's what and telling him how much I like it; never mind that he's _letting_ me. 'Course it's not easy. Didn't expect it to be, nothing about this is going to be easy. Can already tell. For starters, we're just at the beginning and I'm already in trouble with Castiel.

Chris's ass is red, real red, especially seeing as it began with a pink hue from the spanking he received earlier. I've kept that in mind as I've spanked him, but I also know that Chris is no newbie to this. He's a pretty seasoned spankee whether he'll admit it yet, or not. I've given a few spankings in my time and not just to younger, misbehaved members of the family. But just because I have some experience, it doesn't mean I can't learn more—if we make it past this still together, I'll meet weekly with Cas. I want to do this right.

"C'mon sweetness. Just. Try." There's a pause after I say that. My heart's beating out my chest, I rub his ass, trailing my fingers over the swollen flesh, Chris's cock starts to harden against my thighs and so does mine.

I've read about this, talked to Cas and Sam, asked others. Not everyone who needs spanking feels sexually aroused by spanking, so far, I thought that was going to be the case with Christian, since his dick hasn't shown interest. 'Till now. There's at least a small element of sexual arousal for him.

His cock hardening embarrasses him and he moves to get up. I keep a firm hand to his back, telling him I'd like him to stay put, but it's not so firm he couldn't get up if he needed to. He settles. "I shouldn't be like this."

That's a good place to start. I give him two to one cheek then two to the other. "Why?"

"I'm a Winchester. We're supposed to _do_ the spanking, not take it."

"What about your mama?"

"She's not really a Winchester, not by blood. I've got actual Winchester blood in me. I should be strong like them. Like Father, Castiel and Clarabelle."

I give him two more to each. "I think she's earned her Winchester. Don't know anyone for miles that would mess with her; that includes me."

"Yeah, I know, but…I don't want this Dals. I don't care how tough she is. I wanna be like Castiel, like Clarabelle. I want to be like our father."

That's where I start spanking him good. Not because what he's saying is bad, it's how he's feeling, much as I wish he didn't, but because it's what he needs me to do to get him to cry. _That's_ what he needs to cry about; that he's not like them. 'Cause he's not like them. Not completely. He needs to let that go. It's one of the deep seeded fears he holds about himself: _He's not like them, so he's not good enough._

I don't think I'm going to get rid of his years of self-hate in one spanking, but I plan to prove to him right now that if he'll let me, I can. Eventually. I continue the spanking until I hear sniffles and his hardening cock, deflates. He's crying. I did it. I feel accomplished—I did something for him no one else could; he needed that.

I stop spanking, but give him a few more minutes to cry over my lap, releasing his hand and rubbing his back. Then, I pull him up to me swiftly and lie us on the bed. I let him cry some more into my chest running a hand through his hair, 'till he's quiet. He's quiet a long time after that, so long, I figure out what he's doing. "You gonna come out? Or are you gonna hide in there forever?"

"That a real option?"

"Hiding forever?" I smile. "No."

"It's too embarrassing, Dals."

"Why you embarrassed? It's just little ol' me. If anything, I should be embarrassed about how much I liked that. I liked it because I feel like I did you good. Please tell me I did you good?""

He looks up at me, finally, real shyly. "Yeah. You done good Dals."

That fills my heart. I smile bigger, like a big dumb kid and kiss him in a long pull. Twice. "I knew it. See? Made for this, made for you. Just for you."

I nuzzle into his neck, but I sense his smile even if I can't see it. "You are pretty good. Sitting's out for me the rest of tonight, maybe even tomorrow too."

"Naw. I think you'll be okay by tomorrow. Sam hardly ever stands at meals and I know Cas is pretty hard on him."

"That's because he's Sam. Sam's…"

"Tough as nails?"

"Yeah."

"Then maybe it's not Tops that are the only tough ones, fact, maybe it's the Sams and the Claires of the world that are the toughest."

"Maybe," he says. "But I know my brother's pretty tough too."

"True. They both are."

"And you," Chris says squeezing me like I'm his own, his very own.

"Lordy Bee Chris. You make me want to…" I want to say 'protect' him. He seems to vulnerable right now even though I know he's tough as nails too. He won't like it if I say that and I really will get kicked out. Brings to mind that old saying: _An elephant is eaten one bite at a time._

"Make you want to what?"

"Hold onto you, forever."

He burrows further into me. "I think I know your answer, Chris, least I hope it's what I think it is, but I need to hear you say it. You willing to do this with me as you?"

His face falls. "I don't know what me is, Dals."

It's an honest answer. At least it's an honest answer. "Who does? We're all learin', some more than others, but all of us, learnin'."

"I know you mean this too," he says referring to the spanking I just gave him, which was more of what Cas calls a 'thinking spanking' than a true punishment. I gave him a few whacks for throwing my hat, but it was mostly for thinking, for release. "When I'm alone here with you, it feels like I could. I'm more comfortable doing this with you than anyone else. But out there…"

"Look here, Chris Winchester, our private life is our private life. We don't gotta tell who we don't want to. We make this how we want it; can even make our own code. I'm willing to do whatever you want to make this work, but my dealbreaker is not hiding from me. You're up front with me, even if it's hard. I'm kinda big on communication, comes with the psych degree."

"Yeah. Shoulda seen that one coming, but our families are nosey Bastards."

I laugh and press his nose. "There's no way around Sam and Cas, but they don't have to know every detail, I don't think they'll expect it—Cas and Sam will just want to make sure we're safe. You know it's how they're both built. To the rest, we're just two guys dating. If anythin', everyone's gonna assume you're in charge anyway and you are. You stole my heart Christian."

"I have?"

I kiss him. "Yep."

That makes him groan and throw his head back.

"What?"

"This means we gotta tell my father we're dating, don't it?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't have to know the details either. Not for now. I will do it proper though—I'll ask his permission to date you. We'll do it together, okay?"

"Kay."

There. That's a couple of bites right there. But now…

I sit him up and pull off his shirt so he's all the way naked. "What you doin' Dals?"

"What's it look like? I'm gonna fuck you stupid, cowboy. We're already in deep water sailor, might as well dive right in."

I stand up so I can look at him as I undo my belt buckle and shuck off my jeans and boxers. He's looking me over too, his eyes resting on my dick, so I give it a few pulls for him, 'till I start dripping. I'm not going to last long. I kneel on the bed. "Dals can you…I mean when you were spankin' me I…and it's never happened, well not quite like that and it felt so damn good. I can't believe I'm even asking you to, but, you do something to me Dallas."

"If it's the same thing you do to me then I know and I noticed you getting hard when I was spanking you." He blushes. "I can make you feel real good, darlin'."

"Please," he moans licking his lips.

"Can you take a little more spanking?"

"Yeah, huh."

I pull him up again, 'cept this time, we're both naked as the day is long. I reach into his nightstand, betting on a bottle of lube being there and I'm not disappointed. I put him over my knee again. "Spread real wide and lift your hips for me." He does, settling in and I pull his cock back between his legs and dribble a healthy dose of lube all over his ass, thighs and cock. Using my left hand to stroke his cock, I use the right to start spanking him again. I don't spank as hard this time, but still enough for him to feel it.

"Mmmhmm, you can…harder Dals."

Didn't expect that, but I oblige him, spanking him hard enough that the slaps are loud and deepen the red color already there. I keep stroking and spanking, stroking and spanking. He helps by moving his body in time with my strokes, 'till the come squirts, long spurts out of his cock.

I use a combination of his own come and lube and press my finger into his hole, opening him for me. When I finally slide into him, I'm facing him and he's looking up at me, we both smile sharing our secret, moving our hips in time, falling, falling, falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I'm just going to go ahead and say it, b/c I'm not sure if I've written it well enough combined with the fact that it's something that needs to be developed over several chapters (IMO) and TBH, I don't know yet how much we're going to 'see' based on the storyline for Dean, Cas and Sam. That and it's going to take awhile to write... 
> 
> I'm talking about Chris and his relationship with his father. He had to notice how Dean and Cas were together to begin to see the beauty of this type of relationship. Chris hasn't yet come to value what his father does for him without Chris knowing. This will come much later in WW. 
> 
> Hope that makes sense.


	17. Night Night Papa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. This is mostly just some Papa and Dean fluff. One of those unnecessary chapters you can write in Fanfic that don't really advance the storyline, but are a little warm and fuzzy and hopefully fun to read. 
> 
> Okay. Mock's beat. I said I would answer comments tonight, but I'm literally falling asleep at my desk. I WILL get back to y'all, as always. Promise. Just might take me another day or two. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It's a quarter after six. Dean's been fed and changed and he's crying his eyes out. It's too early to put him to bed, even though he's tired (figure that one out) and he's pissed because Daddy went out. The plan was to have Dean hang out with Mother and Father 'till bedtime and I would take five until then, but that's not going to happen.

Sam and I did manage to get a little Dean-free time just before dinner, enough time for me to spank and fuck Sam properly; we all ate dinner; then Sam left. Not wanting to subject my mother to the cranky boy (even though she insisted she could handle one cranky grandson) I'm looking after him. Solo. Dean refused to go to her anyway, so she said she'd be working on her quilting, if we needed her. "Dean doesn't want him to go, Papa. You tell him to come back," all said in a mangled cry.

"Daddy's coming back later, kiddo. Papa and Dean are going to have fun," I say tiredly and hope it's true. I think this is going to require coffee that I'll never get.

"Noooo…! Doesn't _want_ Papa, Dean wants Daddy."

Sam always tells me not to take that stuff personally, he's just three after all, but it's hard. Especially with all the cuddles I got earlier. Sam also tells me, he's the same when I leave, asking for Papa, but I doubt it, that's just Sam trying to make me feel better. "I have an idea. How about Dean opens a present?" It's no wonder why Dean talks in third person with us always referring to him in third person. He probably just thinks that's how you're supposed to talk.

Sam's going to kill me for offering Dean presents. He likes to watch Dean open every single one and film to watch I don't know when, probably so he can cry over popcorn when Dean's away at college. He also makes note of who got him what, so they can craft individual thank you cards together.

Bless the Lord, my bribe works. "Present?"

"Yes. A present."

"Okay, Papa. Dean will open a present." He makes it sound like he's doing me the favor. In actual fact…well, he is. "Tigger can come open the present too, Papa?" he sniffles.

"That depends. Is Tigger going to behave himself?" I say, but I'm already moving us toward the diaper bag where Tigger's been confined.

"He will Papa."

"Okay." I hand him Tigger and Dean hugs him like they've been separated for two years instead of two hours.

"Missed you Tigger," he says and I can't help the tired smile that spreads across my face.

I put him down, so he can trail behind me to the living room where all the presents are and have no idea which one to pick. I'm too tired to sift through them, so I just pick one off the top. I notice when I'm handing it to him that it's the one from Jared and Jensen. Crap. It could be anything.

It's also kinda heavy. I think about putting it back, but he's already excited about opening _this_ present, looking so cute, clapping his little hands around Tigger, so despite my better judgment, I place it in front of him and sit on the floor behind Dean.

_Least they actually wrapped it and in kid's wrapping paper._

When he gets the paper off, it's just a box, white and innocent looking and yet I still have a bad feeling. I'm right. When Dean removes the lid, I nearly have a stroke and have to grab it, before he does.

Inside, is a Taurus '92, 9mm with custom pearl grips. I recognize the model, it's from nineteen seventy-two when Taurus got together with Beretta to make this slick gem. I pick it up and turn it over, looking at it. _At least the two yahoos had the sense not to load it._ It's old. Well used, but also well loved and cared for and I know; this belonged to Dean. In the box is a note: Baby's First Firearm.

I'm going to kill them.

Dean, my Dean's looking at it, excited, knowing it's something important, but not sure what it is. "Is it, Papa?"

I smile at my sweet little boy. It's strange, even now, especially knowing who Dean was, to hear him so innocent, like he's never seen a firearm before and well, to his knowledge, he hasn't. I still want to kill Jared and Jensen for this and I will, but I get their point. They're reminding us that there are things out there that go 'bump' in the night, things we could never hope to protect Dean from, not ultimately, not without help, help that might one day have to be his help.

 _Does it have to be today, guys?_ I'm pretty sure not even Old Dean was introduced to firearms at three.

I take a deep breath, reach around him, remove the magazine and show him, _briefly_ how it works. "This, Mr. Winchester, is _not_ a toy. If I ever catch you with it on your own, without Papa or Daddy, I will spank your bare bottom and it won't be a nice spanking."

Dean nods seriously. "Won't touch it, Papa."

"Thank you. Having said that, this is what Papa sells to people. Not this one, but ones like it. Understand?"

Whether he does or not, he nods, fascinated. I replace the mag and show him how to pull the slide to load a round, if there were ammo inside (which there is not). "One day, Papa will teach you how to use this, but we're going to wait 'till you're bigger. Until then, Papa will keep this safe for you." Locked in our safe with our other firearms.

For now, I place it on a shelf way up high and reach for another gift, since I was hoping he'd have something we could play with. This time, I check the name tag: Georgia. That's got to be safe (I hope) though you never can tell with Colts.

It's a small-guy hockey stick with a bright orange ball. I get another cute, "is it, Papa?"

Hmm. We could be sheltering him, just a little. "I'll show you, kiddo." I take my chances with my father killing me and bring Dean out front, to use his garage door for our 'net.' I roll up the sleeves of my white, long-sleeved shirt and start showing him, from my limited experience with hockey, how to hit the ball with the stick. He's actually pretty good and I'm not surprised. While Dean may have taken a while to develop his motor functions due to the demon-brand Modlenol Crowley shot him up with, once he got motor functions, he got them. _Maybe another bit left from old Dean?_ Hunting sounds like a sport in and of itself.

He's laughing, having fun; it's another one of those moments I feel like I'm being a good Father. It's not easy, let me tell you. I wish there was a grading system that told you how well you're doing and the exact ways, with instructions on how to improve should you need them. Without standards of practice, much of it feels like guessing.

Sometimes, parenting is an investment you just have to hope pans out. Consistent discipline, leading to a centered, prosperous individual. But other times, like right now, his smiles and laughter let me know I'm doing okay.

So even though I feel ready to pass out from exhaustion, I pull up my socks and do my best impression of a goalie for Dean. I do have to scrub my eyes regularly, but his enjoyment fuels me and I think I'll make it. _Look how much fun he's having._ I can do this for him.

DEAN

It's been a long fucking day. Doesn't mean I want to go to sleep, just saying, because it needs to be said. It's been a good day, a good birthday party, all until Daddy decided to up and abandon us. No one fucking asked me if he could go, Papa told him he could go then Papa thought he was going to fucking pawn me off on Gramma and Grampa.

Fuck that.

I was going to cry and fucking cry, until Papa relented and took me to see Daddy, or told him to come back home, but then he thought we should open presents and I thought that was a good idea too.

I know the thing Uncle Jared and Jensen got me, must be cool. Just being from them is an indication, but Papa won't let me have it, so it must be ultra cool. Right away, Tigger wanted to play with it, but Papa explained that it's not for little Deans and usually what isn't good for little Deans isn't good for Tiggers either. That guy. He's been on lock down since Auntie Georgia's house for his naughtiness. He had to go and punch Daddy. I hope he learned his lesson; I got in trouble for that too.

"What's this Papa?" I ask again. I keep forgetting.

"It's hockey, kiddo."

"Oh. Dean likes hockey Papa. I'm good." I really am. I keep hitting the garage even with Papa trying to stop me. If Papa can't stop me, then I must be good. He's good at everything.

We play 'till the sun starts to go down. Papa looks ragged. He took his tie off awhile ago, his shirt is untucked with the top two buttons undone and he keeps scrubbing his red eyes. He's also moving slower than he was a little bit ago. I think it's best to let him know. "Youse is too slow Papa. Have to be faster to stop Dean."

He laughs at me. "Papa is tired Mr. Chester."

"And my garage is taking a damn beating with that slap shot of yours, Cowboy."

"Hi Grampa!"

"Sorry Father."

Grampa picks me and my stick up, I hug him with one arm. "How about Grampa gives you a bath, so Papa can go die peacefully?"

"Papa's not dying!"

" _Father._ Papa's not dying, kiddo," Papa says. "Grampa's just joking." He scoops up the ball.

"Will you let Grampa give you a bath?" Grampa asks again.

Fucked if I know why, but if it's not Daddy or Papa tonight, it's no go for launch. My lower lip trembles and I reach for Papa. "Don't worry, kiddo. Papa's giving you a bath." He sets me on his side and I latch onto his torso, curling into him. "How does S-A-M do this all day when he's tired?" Papa rubs his eyes again.

"People like S-A-M and Claire have more endurance than you and I. They're stronger than us in ways and we are in others."

They must be talking about stuff they don't want me to know. That's why they spell shit. All I know is, if Daddy's not fucking here, Papa's stuck with me. "The other thing that's stronger than some, is Dean's wrist over my garage door." Grampa looks at Papa in a way that makes him look down for just a second.

"Message received loud and clear, sir. We'll find another place for Dean to play." Papa yawns.

"I'm sure I can get Dean to comply and let me bathe him, you're dead on your feet, son."

I grip Papa tighter. "I'm fine with him Father."

Grampa doesn't look happy that Papa won't let him. "You let me know if you need help."

**

Papa's running a bath with bubbles as he undresses me. "Just a quick bath, kiddo. It's been a long day."

Papa gets my diaper off and realizes he forgot to pull out towels. It's as he's turning, Tigger says to me, "Yo Dean. Toss me. I wanna go swimming."

I didn't think Tiggers were supposed to get wet. He's always telling me how much he hates the bath and water, but he's always doing a lot for me, so if he says so, I'm gonna toss. Besides, I'd really like to see what happens to Tiggers when they get wet. I throw Tigger into the tub, laughing as he reclines and floats for a second, but when his stuffing starts to absorb the water, he begins to drown and scream for help, but since Papa doesn't seem to hear him, I let Papa know. "Help! Help! Papa!"

Papa turns around panicked, "Dean!" until he sees that all I'm shouting about is Tigger. Papa frowns, but he does save Tigger (who's sopping) and tosses him in the sink. I shouldn't be, but somehow I'm still shocked when he lays two sharp smacks to my diaper free ass.

Tears spring to my eyes. "O-oo-wie, Papa." He's already lifting me and placing me into the tub as I'm rubbing out Papa's paw prints from my poor little bum.

"Tigger doesn't go in the tub. You've already been in trouble with Tigger once today."

He starts washing my hair, as I cry a little bit more. Can't really feel the sting anymore, not really sure why I'm crying. "Sorry, Papa."

"It's okay now, kiddo." He's got an almost smile on his face that makes me feel better. "How about you help Papa wash you?"

Sounds like a good idea to me. He hands me a cloth and I begin swishing the soapy cloth over my belly, happily. "Tigger got throwed, Papa," I say needing to talk about it a little.

"Dean threw Tigger in the bath. Papa's told you many times about throwing Tigger," Papa says sternly, with gentle undertones as he rinses the soap from my hair like a freaking boss. He's gotten a lot better at not getting soap in my eyes.

"Tigger says to, Papa."

"What does Papa say about doing the naughty things Tigger tells you to do?"

"Not to."

"Right. That's Papa's good boy."

I beam at him, liking to be Papa's good boy. "I am good Papa, but Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Was fun!"

"Don't do it again."

"Won't Papa."

It is a short bath. Papa doesn't even let me play…maybe I should have opted for Grampa, but it's too late now. When he gets me in a new diaper and a t-shirt (it's too hot for all my pajamas) I note he's taking me to _my_ room. "No Papa! Noo-ooh!"

Water works.

"C'mon Mr. Winchester, none of that. You're sleeping in your own bed tonight. Papa says."

I cry anyway. "Scared, Papa."

"What are you scared of, angel?"

I'm not really sure. Not sleeping with Daddy and Papa? I like cuddling up with one of them and Tigger. Especially now that Tigger's out of the mix (we had to squeeze him out and let him dry) I need them more.

I don't answer, so Papa comes to his own conclusions. "How about Papa checks under the bed for you?" He rubs his eyes again, with his right hand, his left is holding me to him. I made him carry me again.

When I rub my eyes, Daddy says, "it's time for all the Dean Chesters to go to bed and lay their heads and have sweet dreams." Papa must be exhausted. Huh. Maybe I could put Papa to sleep…

"Aha! It's just as I suspected, no monsters under here!" Papa pops up from looking under the bed, as I watch on from the door. His hair is all sticking up now. I've stopped crying, but my lip's wobbling; I know no monsters means he's not letting me sleep with them. Papa frowns at me, but not in the displeased way he did earlier when Tigger got throwed in the tub, but like he's trying to figure me out. "Is it…is it no place?"

No place? I don't know what he's talking about. I reach for him and hope for the best. Papa heaves a huge sigh, then removes his shirt and pants. He picks me up, pulls back the covers and places me on the bed. "I'm sorry angel, Papa's clueless. Daddy's going to have to fill me in on this one. For now, Papa will sleep here with you, because you are sleeping here, Mister."

(We'll see Papa)

Even as he climbs in with me, his eyelids are drooping and he has to rub them again; in my estimation, he's not going to last much longer. "We gonna reads a story, Papa?"

"Uh, yeah," he says yawning, lying down. "What story you want?"

He doesn't move to get a book. He's half asleep already. "S'ok Papa. Dean will tell the story."

"Huh?" His eyes are closed. "Okay, Sam…" Yawn.

(He thinks I'm Daddy) I giggle quietly.

I tell a short story, starting it like Daddy does, as I pet Papa's head, gently. "Once upon a time, all the Papa's got together to have a big nap. They were 'zausted because they had so much fun, playing with all the Deans…"

SAM

I would never have left our sweet baby boy with my husband if Gramma and Grampa Winchester weren't there to help. I mean, I'm tired too, but I can function on less sleep than Cas can. He needs a lot more than he's been getting and he didn't look good.

I don't plan on staying here long. Just wanted to come by and say hi to everyone. It's kinda hard to do it properly with a three-year-old hanging off of you; I probably won't get many chances. When I arrive, the first two I see are Jared and Jensen, they hand me a beer. "Heya Sammy," Jensen says.

"Hey Sam." That's Jared.

They both look just a little more weathered than last I saw them, but still good. "How's the road so far?"

"Fantastic, Sammy. Love it. Feels good protecting people and just so you know, we're not just here on personal business—we're working a case."

"You are?" That doesn't sit well with me. I don't like Dean being so close to his old life.

"Uh, yeah. Something's going on at the Mickles's farm. We're going to check it out after this," Jared says.

"Don't freak, Sammy. See? I knew we shouldn't have told him, Jare."

"Then why did you tell him, Jen?"

"You've got nothin' to worry about, Sammy. Dean is safe, long as we're around," Jensen says, ignoring his twin. _Yeah. He doesn't have to tell Michael._ "'Sides, we left him a little something for his birthday, should help."

That sounds bad. "What did you two idiot boxes leave my son?"

They didn't look scared of whatever's happening over at the Mickles's farm, but they look scared now, because of the way I'm looking at them. "I told you he was too young Jen—"

"Nonsense. They shelter that boy. There are things out there, Sammy, you're just gonna have to trust us."

"What. Is. It?"

"We gave him back his old hand gun."

"You what?"

"Re _lax_. It's not loaded."

"He's three. My son is three. You don't give a three-year-old a hand gun."

"We didn't expect you'd let him use it _now._ We're not that stupid. It's for when he's older."

"Then give it to him when he's older. Jesus Murphy—Cas is going to kill you two if there's anything left when I'm through."

"Don't be mad, Sam. Jensen has a point. You two coddle him, he's not gonna be able to hunt with the way you're raisin' him. He'll be too soft. He needs something from his old life, maybe Jensen's right, maybe it will remind him some of his old life and maybe he needs it."

"You agree with him?" Of the two, Jared's always been less harebrained. I'm willing to hear him out.

"A little. Still thought the hand gun would have been a better, sixth birthday present," he says, but adds (when he sees that doesn't impress me), "look, I'm not even sure I want Dean taking up this life again—you'll need to ask me again in a few years, Jensen feels the same, we've talked about it."

"You have?"

"Yeah. We enjoy the life, because we like saving people and it's right for us, but it's a hard life. We're sorta hoping he'll pick different. Go to school, raise a family."

"Yeah," Jensen agrees. "But if he does get pulled back, we can't stop him and we know you gotta be prepared. We want to help him. Train him."

I don't like this conversation. Not at all. "You two didn't have hand guns when you were three and you did just fine."

"But how much better would we have been—"

"No. No. Just no. If I need advice on how to raise my three-year-old, I'll ask, thank you."

"Jeez, Sammy. We're sorry all right? We were just trying to help," Jen says.

"Yeah. Sorry, Sammy."

I'm mad, but I've always found it hard to stay mad at these two—they're charming as all heck. And if that weren't enough, now that they're hunters, I'm afraid each time I see them could be the last; I don't want bad feelings between us, ever. Besides, I think they're morons for doing it, but they were well intended. "Okay knuckleheads, I forgive you; you're off the hook with me, but beware the angel Castiel."

"Not cool, Sam. So not cool. You shouldn't call Cas that. Angels are dicks and Cas kicks ass."

"Point taken big brother," Jared says.

I watch them trounce off, shaking my head then look around to see what Dal and Chris got up to. I want to know how everything panned out, but I don't see them anywhere. Huh.

It's mostly my younger siblings and cousins at this party. Georgia has too many little ones currently, for her to get away for something like this. Jackson's here though, but on his own. "Howdy Sammy. That was some birthday."

"I know. The parents went wild."

"They went a little hog wild; just a tad excited about Dean's first birthday, I guess."

I don't bother correcting him. To them, I guess it is Dean's first birthday. The grandparents are still a little sore I didn't invite them to his real first birthday with us party.

We catch up and as we do, I can't help looking around and below me for Dean. I don't mean to do it, I just do it. I'm conditioned. He's my little shadow. He sticks close to me most of the time, so it feels weird not having him with me. I miss him. _Yes, I know it hasn't been an hour._

Cas teases me sometimes. I'm with Dean pretty much twenty-four, seven, naturally, there are times I do want a break, then when I finally get one, I miss the dickens out of him, within five minutes and want to go home. I check the time. Eight.

(Rats. Dean'll be fast asleep by now)

I convince myself to stay another hour, chat with a few more family members, but leave when things start to get rowdy. I'd say I'm not twenty-five anymore, but Mama and Daddy will show up soon and party these kids under the table. _I just want to go see Dean._

Cas too, but sadly, he's second these days. A _very_ close second, but second.

**

The house is quiet when I get back. It's only nine-thirty, but Claire and Clyde aren't around, probably went to bed after they put Dean down. Least that's what I think, until I do hear a noise, which turns out to be a pair of love drunk twenty-something-year-olds. They're both laughing. I give them both my stern big brother look. "Sammy? What're you doing here?"

"I'm staying here, what are you doing here Dallas?" I look between him and Chris.

"We spoke with Father. He's okay with us dating," Chris says, shier than I've ever seen him. Somehow I don't think that's the whole story.

"Yeah. We're gonna go back to the party. We wanna celebrate."

I let my features soften. "Good for you two." Didn't even have to get involved. "What were you two laughing at?"

They both look at each other again and burst out laughing, almost to tears.

"Forget it. Just have a good night you two."

"Night, Sam."

"Night, Sammy."

I bypass mine and Cas's room and head straight for Dean's room, so I can at least kiss my little boy on the head. Cas was pretty insistent that he sleep in his own bed; I don't doubt for a second he managed to do it. When I open the door to his room, I hear a little voice singing the winnie-the-pooh song. It's Dean singing. He's making up some of his own words, petting Cas's hair, sweetly. It's really cute.

"Dean?"

"Quiet Daddy. Papa's sleeping," I get told.

"Sorry, baby," I whisper. "Come see Daddy."

Careful not to wake his Papa, who he apparently put to sleep, he climbs down and runs to me; I scoop him up and let him latch his monkey legs around me.

"Where's Tigger?" I figured Cas would have given him back by now.

"He wanted to swim in the bath, got all wet and hasta dry off."

"Yeah? What did Papa think about that?"

"Is not good, Daddy. Dean got spanked."

"I bet." I walk us to my and Cas's bedroom.

"Daddy, Dean, Dean, Dean sleeps inna big bed with you?"

"Yep. We're gonna let Papa sleep in Dean's bed, by himself. Do you know why?"

"He's 'zausted."

"Yes. Is a long, long day for Papas. You and Daddy will get up early and make him breakfast." Then we'll have the fun task of Dean's first day in church.

"Kay."

"You must have been singing to Papa a long time." I put Dean on the bed and take off my shirt and jeans.

"Was a long time," he yawns and rubs his eyes. _I don't know how he didn't fall asleep with Papa._ "It's time for all the Dean 'Chesters to go to sleep too and have sweet dreams," I say snuggling in beside him.

I don't get a reply. Just another yawn. Then Dean's…out. 


	18. Church: A Dean's Eye View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hi Everybody!
> 
> So this was on an unexpected hiatus and I'm not really sure why. All I can tell you is that my muse works in a strange way. I WISH it were linear; I wish I could be the kind of writer who finishes one story then moves onto the next, but sadly, my muse takes breaks on me and runs off to other things while I'm like, "HEY, GET BACK HERE, WE GOTTA FINISH THIS ASSHOLE!" But here's a chapter that came to me, so I wrote it. 
> 
> I hope it's a bit of a bright side that I can work on other things while one story goes "silent" for me, otherwise it would have just been 9 months with no word from Mock at all. But enough of that. 
> 
>  
> 
> **This story:**
> 
>  
> 
> I do have PLENTY more GUW stuff planned. A storyline I've been trying to get to with this is now finally on the horizon. I think though, that this part of the story has come to an end more or less, so I technically could jump into the next part. YES, I realize there are things to follow, there always will be I think, but in general, this part of the story has run its course, in that the things I wanted to "show" here are shown. I *may* time jump from here, but haven't decided. I may also be inspired to write Cas and Sam's Texas birthday party... who would like to see that? If enough ppl would, I'll keep going. If y'all are bored, I'll move on. 
> 
> Updates (if you care): 
> 
> Make Me Yours: Have two chapters ready, just working on the third. 
> 
> For You: Have three chapters nearly ready. 
> 
> WW: About to work on the next three
> 
> BDD: What? Isn't this over Mock? LOL Not quite. I have that summer TS 60% done. I'll be working on that next as well. 
> 
> Everything else: Soon! Soon! (Lies! Lies!) Hahah. No really, soon as I can.

"Dean… Dean…" Waking a three-year-old is risky business, but I'm taking him to get a haircut with me _before_ church. My large hand is on his little belly just above his diaper; I shake it just a little.

His eyes pop open, a big smile behind his soother when he sees me. "Daddy," he says.

I'm all ready to go. I was smart, got up, showered and dressed before I dared to disturb the Dean monster—I've done this before. It's fifty-fifty. Sometimes he's in a great mood when he wakes up, sometimes he's grouch-o. "C'mere Dean Bean, let's change your diaper."

His floppy curls are pressed flat onto his head when I pull him off his pillow, sweaty, even though he's in nothing but his diaper. I knew he'd get hot; took his shirt off soon as we made it to the bedroom. Still sleepy, he lays his head on my shoulder. "Daddy? Where's Papa?"

"Sleeping in Dean's room. He was exhausted, remember?"

"Yeah. 'Zausted."

Since he's in a good mood, I take a big chance and bring him into the bathroom to see if he'll pee. "How about you pee in Grampa's toilet? Then we can tell him."

"Okay!" He races up to the toilet, his little arms swinging.

"Wait, bug. We gotta take your diaper off, remember?"

"Okay, Daddy." He stands there and waits, expecting me to do his bidding, which I do. Most of the time, I'm his slave. Willing of course, but still a slave. I'm glad this is him, now. It's become 'what happens.' All he has to do is be him and everything happens around him.

Once he's set up, he lets go and pees at the 'Cheerios' I've sprinkled in the toilet. "Keep the pee in the toilet, Dean Bean."

"Dean is!"

"Shh. Lordy Bee, Dean Daniel, you're going to wake the whole house."

He thinks that's funny and laughs. Tigger is sitting on the counter where he was left to dry off. "Daddy, Tigger's all dry, now?"

In other words, can I have him again? "Yeah, he's dry. You tell Tigger to behave himself. He's not doing a good job listening these days."

"Will Daddy," Dean says, hugging Tigger close.

In nothing but his pajama shirt, he follows me back to the bedroom and I get him dressed for our Daddy and Dean adventure. We have a lot of those. Downstairs, Claire is making coffee and breakfast, it looks like Cas must still be sleeping. "Gramma, Gramma! We're goin' some place."

"You are? Where to?"

"With Daddy," he says like that explains it all.

"Then you better eat a good breakfast."

I leave Dean to chatter with his Gramma and slip into Dean's room to see Cas. I was going to make him breakfast, but I think I'll let him sleep instead. We've got church, Dean's first day in church, he'll need sleep for that. I kneel down beside the bed and run a hand through his messy hair. "Cas… Cas?" I make my voice as gentle as I can.

"Mmmph."

"Dean and I are going to get hair cuts, you can sleep some more."

"Time's'it?"

"Early."

It doesn't take much convincing to get him back to sleep. Dean tired Papa out. When Dean and I have food in our bellies, I borrow a car (the one the Winchesters had a car seat installed just for Dean in) and we're off. "You going to get your hair cut, Dean Bean?"

"Don’t think so, Daddy."

I laugh. "What about Tigger?"

"Tigger's gots fur, Daddy. He doesn't need one."

I'm a little jealous of Tigger. Oh how I would love to grow my hair way out. "Well Dean has to get a little hair cut, but yeah, Tigger can sit this one out."

"Dean has to get a little hair cut, Daddy?"

He's so cute when he says that. I love giving him parties, but it's these moments with him I treasure the most—just us having a mundane chat in the car. Or at home in the back yard as we play, or in the kitchen while we eat, or make muffins...

"Yep. A little one. You know why? Because Papa says."

"Oh, okay, Daddy."

But when we get to the barber's, it's me that's having the freak out, not Dean. He happily lets the man cut off the amount I've instructed (which isn't much, I can't seem to let go of the baby curls he still has) chatting with the man, telling him about Tigger and his birthday. "Sir?"

"Sorry, yeah?"

"How much do you want off?"

I tell the man an inch, guess it really has gotten long, and hold tight to the chair as he snips and watch Dean to distract myself. He's in a kid's chair, shaped like an airplane, which he thinks is really cool and the man cutting his hair, who has obviously worked with kids before, is doing an excellent job entertaining him. Dean's got a new friend by the end of it.

When we're both released, Dean looks up at me, awed. "Wow, Daddy. You look pretty." Every one laughs.

Cas looks a little fresher, drinking his coffee. He's not dressed for church yet, but he is dressed. "Papa! Papa! Lookit us," Dean says heading over to Cas's lap, heedless of the paper Cas was reading.

As usual, Cas always makes his little boy feel welcome. He jostles the paper closed, making room and gives Dean a good look over. "Wow, you do look handsome Dean 'Chester and Daddy too. I have two good-looking boys."

"That's a clean, well groomed family, you've got there son," Clyde says and Cas beams with pride. That, that right there is the reason I do anything. I love seeing that look of pride on his face. Cas simply has a definition in his mind of what he thinks presentable is, and it makes him feel good and like he's taking care of us, making sure we stay within that definition—especially when his father praises him.

"Thank you, sir. I'm a lucky man."

I lean in to kiss him. "Have you eaten, Cassy?" Kiss.

"Mother fed me." And I can tell by the look in his eyes, he'd like to eat me too.

"I put an outfit on your bed for Dean, Sam. He'll look so handsome with his new haircut and church outfit, won't you Doll?"

"Will Gramma."

"Speaking of, I'm going to get him dressed," I say, reclaiming Dean, who hooks his legs around me. He's in a good mood, a cooperative mood. This is good considering what we are about to do.

"I'll come with you, I should get changed too," Cas says following us down the hall.

Soon as I set Dean on our bed, Cas grabs me and gives me a Hell of a kiss, then slaps my ass a little harder than is playful. "That's for bringing Dean in here last night and there's more where that came from."

I don't bother denying it. Not that I would, but with _that_ look, it's sometimes tempting. "I'm sorry, Cas—"

"You're not sorry, but you will be."

Second thought, he's really not pleased. It's an interesting feeling I get from all of that—the interaction as a whole. I don't like having displeased him and I really wasn't doing it to be a 'brat,' I'm more 'willful' than 'brat'; but I like, love, that we have these interactions at all. It's special and makes my stomach squirm in a good way—even though I like that part, I'm still going to do what it takes to get back in his good graces; there's a balance to it. "Yes, sir."

Dean's oblivious of our interaction and is jumping on the bed with Tigger, getting the outfit Claire picked for him, wrinkled. "One little monkey jumpin' onna bed, he fell off and bonked his head!"

"Come here little monkey," I say as Cas moves over to where he's hung his suit for church when we go with his parents (he dresses a little less fancy when it's just us), in the closet. "Look at this nice outfit Gramma picked for you. Make sure to say thank you, Sur."

"Will, Daddy."

It is a nice outfit, that's for sure, but it's more like what I'd pick for him, for an Easter service; it's bound to be uncomfortable and hot if not for the church's air conditioning. I'm a bit sore at the Winchester's for pushing this, I've got a great program picked out for Dean called _Godly Play,_ which I was going to use to introduce Dean to church. I still feel like he's a bit young, I was going to wait 'till he was four, but Miss Caulfield did say she'd take him this September if I wanted…

I'm not going to make a deal about it—it is what it is with parents sometimes, especially when those parents are the Winchesters.

As predicted, Dean hates his church outfit and my happy three-year-old, turns into a churlish three-year-old. "I. Don't. Like. Like. Like it, Daddy!" Then he sets off crying.

I look at Cas. He shakes his head. "He's got to learn eventually, Samuel, no time like the present."

Lordy Bee.

"It's just for a little while, sweetheart. Then we'll take you for ice cream." Don't judge me.

It's amazing how fast ice cream gets a kid's tears to stop flowing. "Ice cream?"

"Yep. Ice cream."

Cas isn't impressed with my methods, but he's too guilty of it himself to say anything more than, "One day he'll have to do things without being bribed," as he ties his tie.

"I agree Cassy, but it wouldn't be so bad to have a thing we do after church, especially when he's little."

He softens his stern Cas-look some. "Okay, Baby. I'm being hard on you this morning. I just want this to go well, it's important to my parents."

Actually, he's not being that hard, there's harder and I know he gets like this when he wants to impress his parents. "Everything's going to be perfect, Cas." Well, as perfect as you get with a three-year-old.

**

It's hard to explain our town. It's small and large at the same time. Think about it like a circle, at the center, like a target is the main part of town with all the stores and shops and City Hall (where we had Dean's birthday) and the Church. There are homes and apartment buildings, but it's not like some of the more densely packed cities. As you move away from the town, the expanse of land is huge and there are farms all around, but also the odd diner and farmer's market and such. Daddy and Mama live on one side and Clyde and Claire on the other. So everyone meets in the middle for Church, which means there are a lot of Colts in attendance, but not all. We don't really bring the kids Dean's age, so some of those Colts stay home and the church is better for it.

I explained to Dean about church. I told him we were going to sit, listen to a story and sing—all things he likes. If only it weren't such a long story and maybe one with pictures. Dean holds my hand and looks around and for a moment, it's like he's sizing the place up, in a way old Dean might have done, or at least, how I picture he would have; we don't know a lot about old Dean.

"Well, I say, well Dean? What do you think about church?" Clyde asks Dean, his favorite person.

"Dean can take this off now, please Grampa?" he takes out his soother to say, more interested in when he gets to take the blazer off than anything to do with church.

"But you look so smart in your outfit Gramma bought for you. You have to look nice in church Dean."

"When do we have ice cream?"

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Ice cream? I think I have to tell you a thing or two about church…" Clyde takes Dean's hand and they walk off to find a pew, Claire following. Huh. This could work out. Dean'll talk Grampa's ear off 'till the service begins. I think about taking bets on how long it takes Dean to wear his grampa out.

**

I hate this fucking jacket. I think I could live with the rest of it, so long as I can convince Grampa that no, Jesus doesn't need to see me in a fucking pale blue blazer. Daddy and Papa are nowhere to be seen. "Grampa, Dean takes this off please?"

"Now, Dean, I say, Dean, I explained it to you already. One must look presentable when you come to say hi to Jesus."

I only know a little bit about Jesus. Daddy's talked about him and so has Papa, but I've never met him. They all talk about him like they have and he might stop by for dinner anytime. "Is too ick, Grampa, please. Dean uses his nice manners."

That has Grampa scratching his head. "Claire?"

Gramma pulls a package of wet wipes out of her purse and uses one to wipe my face, which is more ick. "Doesn't like that, Gramma."

"I know Doll, but your face is all dirty. Now c'mon. Sit and be a good boy. Doesn't Tigger like Church?"

Tigger. Yeah, he's busy checking out what he calls Church virgins, in other words girls he thinks are pretty (that's what he told me when I asked him what that meant). But I guess you could say he likes church. "Yeah, Tigger likes it, Gramma."

"And see how nice he's sitting? Don't you want to be good like Tigger?"

I'm pretty sure she doesn't want me to be 'good' like Tigger. "When they gonna tell the story?"

"After they sing," Gramma says.

"When they gonna sing?"

"Soon, dollface. Soon."

I decide to crawl into Grampa's lap, leaving Tigger next to Gramma. I've got to work out some kind of deal with him. But then Papa and Daddy sit down next to Grampa, Papa's the furthest over from where I am, which is good. Papa isn't in the best of moods and I don't think he'll like me trying to manipulate Grampa, but dammit, I can't take it anymore.

Both of them look so good; Papa and Daddy. Papa's got on his navy blue, fancy suit, with a tie and he even asked Daddy to "tame his hair," so it's not too out of place. Daddy's got tan slacks on, a short-sleeved shirt with thin blue stripes and a blazer in a similar color to Papa's. His new hair cut does look really good, too and he's smiling big. Papa's smiling too, but I can tell he's making himself. I should probably go sit with him, but I'm on a mission.

"Grampa?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Is too hot."

"There's air conditionin' in here. How can you be hot?"

"Dean needs to take this off."

"Dean, we've been through this." His voice is a lot sterner than Grampa's usually gets with me. Still I can tell he's cracking. It's just a matter of time. He arranges me so I'm sitting nice and bounces me on his thin legs a little; they're thin but strong. Grampa looks a lot like Papa and he feels like him sometimes too, but Grampa lets me get away with some things Papa won't, if you can believe it. It's probably because I'm his favorite person, in the whole world.

There are singers and they're good, but I've never heard the song before—Uncle Dally's never sung this one to me before—so I'm bored. Grampa's having a gay old time. He's clapping my hands along with the music and singing to me, proud to have his favorite person at church with him, so I relax and have fun with him.

And I really try to be good, I do, but then some dude gets up on 'stage' and starts talking and talking and talking and talking and it's fucking boring. I look around at everyone, to occupy myself. Tigger's in his glory, winking at girls and even a few guys he thinks are worthy. Gramma looks over at me occasionally, smiling and whispering what a good boy I am. _I'm trying Gramma._

Thankfully I have to fucking pee. I could just use my diaper, but going pee is better than this snooze-a-thon. "Grampa?" I say since I know this is a matter of importance. "I have to pee inna big guy toilet." The people around me chuckle. I don't see what's so fucking funny.

"Shh," Grampa says gently. "Aren't you wearing a diaper cowboy? Just use that."

I notice his voice was a lot quieter than mine. I don't know why we're whispering. A game maybe? It's probably best to do like he does. "Ine 'a big boy, Grampa," I say around my soother.

Daddy's taken particular interest in our conversation. His eyes are full of restrained excitement. Papa's taken an interest too, but for different reasons. "Go pee, Dean," he says quietly. "We'll use the big guy toilet later."

Now I'm fucking confused. Don't they want me to use the big guy toilet?

Daddy's not impressed. " _Cas._ " That's all he says, but it inspires a wordless conversation with their eyes, then Papa nodding.

Daddy plucks me up, diaper bag over his shoulder and sneaks down the isle (of course Grampa picked a place up front, where Jesus could see him best) and into the washroom. "Good boy, Dean Bean," Daddy says the moment we reach the inside, unleashing all of his excitement. "Asking to use the big guy toilet is a big, big step! I'm so proud of you!" I think Daddy's going to cry.

Fuck. Cool your jets, Daddy. It's just peeing.

"I don't give a lick that it's because you want out of that 'story,' don't blame you either, I know it's not fun for little boys," he says helping me take my pants and diaper off, quickly, like he thinks I might change my mind. He opens the toilet seat and lets me stand on the porcelain, straddling it and helping hold me up. "Okay, go for iii—whoa!"

I'd already begun peeing, it's like I have no control over the thing. Daddy only just gets me over the toilet in time. It was good thinking for him to take my pants off, or my nice Gramma outfit would be peed on. I wish I could have got pee on this stupid jacket. Daddy is still full of praise as he tapes me back into a new diaper. "I'm so proud of you for asking to use the big guy toilet Dean and you know, we could leave this off for the rest of church," he suggests; I know he means my diaper.

"No thank you, Daddy," I say in my most polite voice.

His lips twist, but his eyes are soft. "Okay, but if you need to go again, you let me know okay?"

"Will, Daddy."

Our little bathroom trip, erases the fact we're still in church and I assume I can go play, so when Daddy picks me up, I try to wiggle down. "Sorry, Dean. It's not playtime yet."

"Ah-huh, ah-huh," I start crying. "Don't wanna do this, Daddy!"

"Shh, c'mon. A little longer. Remember the ice cream?"

"Yeeeeah…"

"Well how about sprinkles too?"

Wow. Daddy must be fucking desperate. Sprinkles are on his list with zombies, cursing and high-fructose corn syrup. "'Prinkles?"

He smiles. "Yep. But you've gotta sit a little longer, okay?"

"Okay."

"Thank you baby boy."

I let Daddy carry me back to the front and dude is _still_ fucking talking. How long is this story? I feel like the time Michael lectured me on why slurping soup is both 'uncouth' and 'plain irritating.' Except I'm too awake to fall asleep. I am on Grampa's lap though and think that maybe I can lay my head on his shoulder and rest a bit. I know he wants me to sit nice, but I did that for so long already. He can't really expect me to do that more, can he?

He seems pretty interested in what buddy up at the front has to say, Papa's not, Papa's interested in what I'm doing and judging by his eyes, he's deciding on whether or not he should spank me. I pretend not to notice and curl into Grampa, who lets me this time. I look around some more at all the people. A lot of them are people I recognize. Daddy's family. I smile and wave when I see Sammy jr. who nudges Jasper (our cousin, one of the many) snickering then getting a scolding 'hush' from Uncle Blake. Way at the back and on the other side, I spy Uncle Dally and Uncle Chris.

They're both dressed nice too, with their hats in their laps and there's something pleasant between them. Also, maybe they'd let me sit with them. It looks hidden back there and maybe I could ask them a few questions without putting noses out of joint. I don't think about it too much, just push away from Grampa to get down. "Hold on there Cowboy, sit tight," Grampa says still playing the whisper game.

I still try to push away, not bothering to explain; not only am I on a mission, but he'll figure it out by the time I get there, Grampa's real smart. Gramma reaches over to set me on her lap. "C'mere Dollface, come keep Gramma company, huh?"

I make one more effort to get down and whine, but am stopped by Papa. "Dean," he hisses. "Behave yourself."

I pout at him, but stop trying to get off Gramma. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say that Daddy's enjoying the Dean show. I don't sit as 'proper' in Gramma's arms and she lets me sit all sloppy. She's more entertaining than Grampa with some of her commentary into my ear. It makes me want to ask things and why oh why aren't there pictures? There's got to be a more fun way to hear about Jesus. Everyone in my family seems to think he's the cat's meow, I'd like to get to know him, but I don't think I can keep doing this. There aren't even any toys here!

I don't mean to, I really don't, but I fidget in Gramma's lap enough she has to maneuver me around a whole bunch. I enjoy all the things she's saying and feel like we're in our own little secret world, but my body seems to want to move whether I want it to, or not.

I look around again and spy Auntie Lulu who's looking at me and waving. Bet she'd be fun to sit with too. I wave back and say, "Hi!" forgetting about the whisper game. Papa's finished with my nonsense.

He reaches over and scoops me up from under my armpits; I'm deposited on his lap and find out how not pleased he is. "It's important to behave in church. That's enough now. Sit still, please; stop talking." His voice is low and smooth, but I know it's not to be fucked with.

My eyes do sport a few tears, I don't like upsetting Papa. He's so… so… _solid_ though, that I'm immediately calmed—it's like magic. I curl into him, only a bit (so as not to fidget too much) which he allows and he shifts his arms to accommodate my new position and to hold me in a firm way.

Daddy reaches and puts one of his large hands on my leg. He looks over to Gramma and holds out his hand, she passes Tigger over Grampa to him, Daddy gives Tigger to me. _"I think I'm gonna score with a few hunnies later,"_ Tigger tells me delighted. I smile. At least Tigger's enjoying church.

I finally manage to 'behave' and am rewarded with Papa rubbing my back how I like. I suck my soother as he wipes his hand over my face to sweep away the tears.

Finally, _finally,_ the man stops talking. There's another song, but at least I don't have to sit still for that. Papa's clapping my hands like Grampa did and I'm laughing at him. Then it's Amen and we're outta here and I can't wait. I hold Papa's hand as we move through the crowd. Outside, we meet up with Uncle Dally and Uncle Chris (who are holding hands) and Grampa stops to lecture them. "Where were you two?"

They look at each other, Uncle Dally bites his lip. "Sorry we were late, sir."

"Well there are consequences for that, I expect you in my office later today, Christian."

Uncle Chris flicks his eyes to the ground before they're back on Grampa again. "Yes, sir."

"Dean here was a perfect example today in church, you two ought to be more like him."

 _I was?_ Huh. Guess I was. I am pretty awesome. Lots of people say so.

Everyone smiles. Papa looks pleased. Mostly pleased. "I bet we _could_ learn from you, couldn't we half pint?" Uncle Dally says.

"Is it time for the ice cream?" I haven't fucking forgot about that jerks.

Papa lifts me up and kisses my forehead. "You more than earned that Kiddo. Let's go get ice cream."

"Jacket, off?"

They all laugh. "Yeah, sweetheart," Daddy says. "In fact, let's change you into something a lot more comfortable and something that's easier to remove, so it's not destroyed by ice cream."

Fuck yeah. Sounds fucking good to me.

**

Dean's happily making a huge mess with the ice cream. I cringe at the way the sprinkles are dying the skin around his mouth and have to remind myself that just a few won't kill him. It's not like he's having them ever again… or until next Sunday I suppose. I thought the whole thing was a disaster. Not that I wasn't proud of Dean for how well he did, because he did do well for a three-year-old. But he was a fidgety nightmare. Clyde was happy though and that's all that mattered to Cas, since I know Dean's church decorum wouldn't pass as behaving in his books.

With all the cake yesterday and ice cream now, I really do have to turn the sweets meter down a bit. Dean's not used to this much sugar. Thankfully most of the ice cream is getting on him rather than in him. I had the foresight to remove his shirt completely. I reach across the table and slide my hand into Cas's. We've happened to catch a little moment of silence in all the chaos, just the three of us and he's spending it watching our son fondly. Cas's taken his church jacket off too, his sleeves rolled up, tie off, top two buttons undone. God he's sexy. I'm glad I opted for no ice cream in hopes I get to eat him later. "I think we should do it Cas," I say. We've already talked about it, but we were both unsure. Today ended up being the little test we needed.

"Yeah, you think he's ready?"

"Uh-huh. I do. Do I have your official consent, Cassy?"

He looks to Dean again, telling Tigger about how much he likes sprinkles and scolding him for something to do with 'hunnies.' Cas's whole face is consumed with pride and wonder and 'how can someone love one little being so much?' I get it. Totally get it. Sometimes the feelings of love for your kid consume you to a point it's overwhelming. You also can't help but feel a little sadness, along with the excitement, when they reach a new milestone. "I consent. Sign him up for Godly Play, Sam. I think he'll love it." His teeth smile wide, still focused on Dean. "Hey, doesn't Papa get some of that?

"'Prinkles aren't good for Papas, Papa."

"Oh yeah? Well what about this one right here?" Cas grabs him and eats the sprinkle off his belly, drown in melted ice cream.

Dean giggles. "Papa!"

Cas keeps it up 'till he's pealing laughter and has to breath hard to catch his breath when Papa's done with him. I hand Cas a napkin, so he can wipe the ice cream off his face. I know today was stressful for him. I could feel him tense every time Dean squirmed; he did a good job not saying too much. He can't help himself. His obsession with order doesn't bode well with the three-year-old; 'specially since three-year-olds don't know the meaning of the word order. I think we've found a good balance for Cas; most of the time. "You're a good Papa, Cas," I tell him—Papas need praise too.

"Thanks, Baby. I'm still spanking you later though and we're going to talk about Dean sleeping in our bed every night."

"Of course, Cassy." That makes me feel warm and safe. I wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know, "jacket off," couldn't help myself. I'm not sorry. (I'm sure we all know where that came from)
> 
> Who wants to see why #Chally was late? XD


End file.
